Song of Beauty & Truth

These are not impossible dreams...

A field of sunflowers, swinging in slow motion in a baking wind. On a smell of sandy earth and herbal tones, insects humming in the rural silence. A landscape, hot and dry, endlessly empty... I’m standing alone, next to a battered old pickup truck. A sense of belonging and calm. Looking over the land. Sadness for Men.

An absence of irrational competition, trophy love, feudal abuse, negative introspection and the world. My neighbours, my friends. People daring to be old, original and honest. Generous people, people living simply but on the edge, with glistening, humorous eyes. Living a life of play, devoid of facades or forced happiness...

I’m working with purpose and determination... I keep my pencils sharpened. They scratch on the paper. Sentences coming alive. Your letter arrived today. A bird is dragging his tail over the hot tarmac...

There was thunder last night. Lightening over the forest. I had been standing in the garden, gazing. An bandoneon moaning over on the warm night air. This morning, opening the Yale blue curtains. The sun on the wall is inviting us out. We step barefoot though the fly curtains into the garden. The light is making me flinch. I water the plants on the rough wooden tables. A giant stag-beetle is walking through the grass... I follow for twenty minutes with my coffee. My brother has come to visit. I can see him waving from his hut.

At night, we go to the beach. Silence, white noise, wolves howling in our minds. We sing. We watch the fire mountain spit... on the other island.

The water
The coral