Sitting on a deckchair on a roof. Memories of India. Tropical birds, chickens calling and the sound of manual labour. Intrigued by the detail of the potted mint plant leaves. Reckon I can smell them from here. That brush looks blue! Dogs barking. Shadows cast on banana leaves from other banana leaves. Grabbed scrunched up mint sniffed brings back memories of Morocco – souqs and silver teapots. A bird flies by, wings outstretched, close by. Amazed by the pine tree leaves. The trailing flight of a bird, almost like a hosepipe through the opening between the trees. The sound of a nearby fly reminds me of Devon in the summer. The sun is bright now, burst through the morning mist. I’m on a rooftop. Very lucky. Didn’t know this place existed but it’s been here the whole time: boats to and fro, people, markets. Certainly tropical to see the midges lit up yellow in front of the tropical plants. Have experiences become more valuable than things? But only because people can capture a photo of it? The hot white sun, white sky, reminds me of the skies in Oman (before it gets too hot). We chatted about that grasshopper that landed on the window last night, lit up by the indoor lights. Our daughter looked at him closely, could see him breathing, gave him the name hopscotch, and when he flew away she cried. The wonder of life.
Part of this pen is translucent. I can see the ink mechanism. Looks like an alien technology compared to these surroundings. I look at the colours in the chrome, I see red – from my jumper. I look at my hands and see myself reflected in the my silver rings. The funny calls between the birds in the treetops. I’m hungry, I want some sourdough! The delightdful contrast between the silhouetted leaves in the foreground and the green thin leaves in the background lit up yellow-green by the morning sun.