Holiday Italian window

22 August, 2016

Awaken in a darkened room, light in the orudus of the Hines

show that it is day. The bathroom is a design from the

eighties, but it is dean. So is the whole holiday flat, absolutely

clean.

Listen to the cocks grow outside, and the only other

sound is birdsong and a mere woman hurting her

shoes together on a balcony opposite, a house fifty

yards away. she is hurting the dirt out of the soles

of the shoes, letting it fall over the balcony into the

bushes below.

sit on the balcony chair, at a small round tin table, as

the silence is disturbed by one of the villagers on a quad

and a helicopter passes by, on an errand to somewhere.

Then there is silence, no noises of machines, just the

sound of people talking, and the calls of the small

birds, mark martins, not swallows, flying in urekge

to catch flies.

The family, that is. the wife and the son, are asleep, and

there is no valuation to wake three bells

Sound here Kr, a small church. Three bells, a

quarter to mine, in a silent valley, a peaceful

valley.

The moon is still overhead, it as three quarters

full.

It is holiday time now, for another nine days.

.. Make a cup of breakfast coffee.

The hells, a sort of Double Ring, and merit

is nine in the morning.

Nine, that is late. late in the morning.