It is the third hole that opens. I do not know what you want, but it takes all morning digging around the pool.
Here I am in the clouds with my glasses, like Peter Pan as Captain Hook notes, though the gardener of my urbanization is a pirate, or anything like it. Rather it is a man very efficient enclosure that keeps the sweet, well-trimmed hedges, lawns separate the pristine pool water and that little road has been cut stones of ten. Anyway, I do not understand why their activity is now focused on opening holes, lie in the grass and look inside. Then he goes and closes, wipes his brow with a handkerchief and return to dig elsewhere. How curious ... Will you be looking for a treasure? ...
Now, I turn my lens to the roof of my neighbor: "The French Lieutenant's Woman." I call because I think her husband was already retired military. She is about sixty (Or more), but if not for the glass, no one would say. My neighbor spends his days singing, sweep and mop the balcony thousand times and maintained so vivid flowers that look like plastic, well, it's alive and plastic could be taken as an incongruity, but it is not. My neighbor is thin like the teeth of a comb. Today wearing a sleeveless shirt and a pair of skinny little frayed. The hair in a casual ponytail, carefully disheveled, a pair of sandals and a half round bracelet on his arm, just a few inches of the elbow.
The truth is that neither of these two scenes inspired me a damn. So, today, my rust colored glass. Maybe, maybe, maybe ... if I care I miss him a bit and imagination, could mix together and get something out of these two stories. For example: "My neighbor told the gardener who, after cleaning the house and care for her ailing husband, likes to go down to the pool for a while, soak up the sun and enjoy the moment, because there in the grass is always pinch of what people call happiness. "
Here I am in the clouds with my glasses, like Peter Pan as Captain Hook notes, though the gardener of my urbanization is a pirate, or anything like it. Rather it is a man very efficient enclosure that keeps the sweet, well-trimmed hedges, lawns separate the pristine pool water and that little road has been cut stones of ten. Anyway, I do not understand why their activity is now focused on opening holes, lie in the grass and look inside. Then he goes and closes, wipes his brow with a handkerchief and return to dig elsewhere. How curious ... Will you be looking for a treasure? ...
Now, I turn my lens to the roof of my neighbor: "The French Lieutenant's Woman." I call because I think her husband was already retired military. She is about sixty (Or more), but if not for the glass, no one would say. My neighbor spends his days singing, sweep and mop the balcony thousand times and maintained so vivid flowers that look like plastic, well, it's alive and plastic could be taken as an incongruity, but it is not. My neighbor is thin like the teeth of a comb. Today wearing a sleeveless shirt and a pair of skinny little frayed. The hair in a casual ponytail, carefully disheveled, a pair of sandals and a half round bracelet on his arm, just a few inches of the elbow.
The truth is that neither of these two scenes inspired me a damn. So, today, my rust colored glass. Maybe, maybe, maybe ... if I care I miss him a bit and imagination, could mix together and get something out of these two stories. For example: "My neighbor told the gardener who, after cleaning the house and care for her ailing husband, likes to go down to the pool for a while, soak up the sun and enjoy the moment, because there in the grass is always pinch of what people call happiness. "
Alfaya Mercedes MartÃn.
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