sitting up here at timbos place
looking out over trees and clouds and blue skies
down below they fiddle with drums
it could be sweden up here on this balcony
pines ferns leafy evergreens
oaks and elms and natives
all react to the wind in their own characteristic way
the clouds today are simply stupendous
i can hardly tear my eyes away from em to write these words
the size of small mountains
the clouds proceed with deliberation across the blueness
an empty hammock swings in the wind
a very scandanavian afternoon
hint of distant storm
trees stretch in all directions
lemons gleam in lemon trees
the pools undulate under the breezes
women read magazines in the shade
dad rolls a smoke
the children laugh somewhere indoors
a bird sings so sadly out there
like a morning from my own childhood
like an echo in echo
machinery hums
civilization murmurs beyond the wall of trees
the clouds frown down at me
the clouds are onto me
on top of me
these clouds with their agonizing slowness
these clouds with their water from where
above me casting shadows
thrown into the murk of the past
red roofs
red flowers
white flowers
white clouds
blue sky
blue blues