Portugal In September

Portugal in September. Perfect translucent day and I can see the peculiar nature again, as it is no longer a blur of glaring sunlight. It is like meeting an old friend, one who was rumored to have died, in a country I will not see again. Evergreens, carob and olive trees lost in the mist of time, forever alone in the transience of seasons. I also see glimpses of the sea it doesn’t interest me, not today anyway, but I do notice it is deep blue and has white sails on. On my scooter I drive across a narrow bridge they have been working on so it can take heavy lorries, a road is being built somewhere out of sight. Wish I were a painter, fair clouds on azure sky, could be smoke signals sent by an Indian tribe yet to be discovered, I see the past and future at the same time. Bewildering, do I drive in a landscape of ancient dreams? I better stop find at a café, drink a “Bica” (coffee) before I fade into the mystery of nature and can’t find my way back home.