I'm feeling back to normal. Not as healthy and vivacious as 2020, but, good enough. It's noisy outside so it's another headphones-all-day kind of day. But the sky is perfectly blue and my plants are charging up their prana.
On Saturday Nian showed me a trail I never saw before. Sunday he visited again and cooked, and brought unfiltered port wine for me. I like port because you can only sip it slowly and contemplatively like an aging Fado singer in a hair scarf savoring each sip as as she gazes pensively out her window at the vineyards and rolling hills while a cat purrs at her ankles... One does not drink port to get fucked up, to cry, to party, or to forget. One sips port respectfully, slowly, mindfully.
It transPORTs me to a moment in time when I sat on a balcony overlooking Lisbon, hearing the sound of cork-soled shoes on uneven mosaic-tiled sidewalks, the smokey smell of roasting chestnuts and the sweet smells of bakeries, bookshops on every block, old men in newsboy hats and checkered pants, old women in scarves closing the shutters...
And in the small village a few hours east by train, buzzing bees and singing swallows in the sun, tall exotic horses, accordions, drums, and dancing in the square. Spices in burlap bags at a farmers market. Art. Someone's lost chicken roaming the park. Citrus cascading over white and yellow painted medieval walls. The ancient Goddess temple. Sintra. Clotheslines. Old world romanticism. The warmth and kindness of strangers who had no reason to accept me, but did. If ever there was a country that was ideal to be alone in and savor solitude at your own pace, Portugal is it. I also found it very easy to make friends there. I've been a lot of places around the world, but Portugal remains one of my favorites. It felt innocent, wholesome and untouched in many ways. I hope it never changes.
Grateful for March. Grateful for music. Grateful for health. Grateful for everything today.10:42 a.m. - 2022-03-07