white

dim dumb silent morning

saturday, Saturday, dim peaceful even light in the window the grey of an overcast sky, the paint on the window frame grey, the reflection in the glass outside grey too.
the hiss in the head like 
white noise

Brillie timekeeper in the kitchen, tock tock every thirty seconds, a master clock sending signals for slaves long gone.

Coffee in the kitchen, the kitchen a mess, but who cares?
white hiss.

A sound in the grey crepuscular morning, now a vibration from a motor car in the alley, outside, anyways, silence again soon.

Saturday morning, a few hours of  this.
Six thirty nine now, that is the time.


And a first jet passes overhead, makes a noise like the coffee maker.
Holiday makers on their way. And a hawk cries from the church tower.

white hiss, it has been here so long the thought of being without it is almost frightening now.

The only place where it was not was in the depths of a cave in France. Strange!


six forty five now.

Portuguese, slow learner, there are so many lessons to master. Every day a little more.
Maybe enough to understand sometime, if not ever to really speak.
Music, listen, even if you cannot sing or play.
tocar 
ouca

branco
Braga