TE19 Iberian Adventure

Passing Time in Portugal

“Anyway - did you bring a book?” Grandfather finally spoke.

“No - I’ve had enough reading.” I said, “But I plan to write.”

That summer words began to flow, as writing became a wholly consuming affair. Thewriter is plagued by some incommunicable pain - the inability to adequately capture his vision of the world. When the last pen stroke has landed, we reflect upon our work and find that it bears only a passing resemblance to what we had set out to convey.

“But what will you write about?” Judy smiled, “Nothing much happens here.”

***

The following day passed much the same and the sun had relented by the time we ventured down to the neighbouring farmhouse - bare and featureless, cloaked by cork oaks and olive trees. Vitorino was a lively Algarvian with an unruly moustache. By his side Maria smiled, a headscarf protected her soft features and cloudless eyes that almost seemed to melt. Their neighbours radiated warmth, accepting my Grandfather and Judy into this ancient hamlet. “Their son keeps an eye on the house when we’re away.” Grandad explained, “But lately it seems their grandchildren have been running riot in the garden.” Judy introduced me to their neighbours’ Granddaughter Matilde, a bronzed Alvorian angel with deep, wistful eyes. Shewas shelling 155