TE19 Iberian Adventure

Narda Azaria Dalgleish

S C O T T I S H B O R D E R S

Fiery pinks, cooling blueberries, burnt oranges, freshly azures, Lincoln greens, Simon doesn’t wait for the muse to move him – everyday he paints, Spring to Spring –

a caprice dims his eye blind so that She is the painter painting life a live rendition – it’s done, it’s done for him. One mustn’t let Scots Pines and Balsam Poplars await

the muse – king and slave alike don’t let steaming food get cold on the table. I revolt against voiceless homebound words, the dearth of eye-to-eye counsel. The sun

slumbered all day. Tomorrow I’ll cook lamb for Anthony and open a window. I see him a thirst-pit hunger-wretch – my need to feed beckons so much more.

Aspiring servants ablute rooms as if reality itself is the visitor. That morning she felt impelled to prepare one room – no-one knew I was coming.

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