Flying High

Flying high I fall through the air so dense can´t see a thing opened up my big, black umbrella descended in an orderly fashion. A scythe of a moon gave enough light I could see the coastline the dark menacing sea was waiting. Landed on dry ground walked through a mono-cultural landscape at the sound of endless Fado seeping up from the earth. A maze of orange trees that bore a fruit no one bothered about artificial juice can be bought anywhere. From a hilltop, I could see my cottage noticed the yard light was still on this hurt my frugal nature. I heard the din of a desultory air-plane circling around looking for a missing passenger.