A little wooden boat

If I were a little wooden boat, this is the place where I would like to drop anchor most of the time. Between the countryside and the sea, in the richest landscape I have ever lived in. On the way to the Atlantic Ocean as if still at the Mediterranean Sea; in the last piece of Europe, which could be Africa already, but also the faraway Middle East. That’s how pure beauty feels like to me: open, mixed, intense, warm, unique. It elevates us by making the hardships of the spirit less valuable and existence greater. Once basic survival is assured, isn't the possibility of its fruition, from a certain moment in life, more vital than any hustle and bustle or illusion of companionship? 

It is said that in each generation lies the capacity for a better attempt. It was facing the sublime here that childhood of mine began exhibiting foreshocks that preceded the family earthquake - which nearly buried my core at once. It seems to me of the utmost elementary poetic justice towards myself to try and make this territory the stage for old age now.

This very last resumption, hopefully, could start taking place tomorrow already if not for extreme fatigue. It’s good to breathe a little at last. I am just letting the wind blow for a while.

 

Ria Formosa seen from Cacela Velha