• Gary Hunter

Old World, New Start - Dec. 29, 2020

the air is rather silent here and I wonder

what sounds the wind will make in Portugal

what language it will speak and how I’ll answer

will I clap for my new local musicians?

strange birds playing unique songs


I can’t bring these mountains with me

so I’ll adopt one or two if they’re old enough

here they seem to grow over the years like children

while I shrivel in the shadows of their magnificence


the people will probably look different too

facial pieces in new arrangement noses and eyes

that may or may not shine for me

I’ve heard their hands are talkative

excited by expressive adjectives


then there’s the fragrance of a place

what wafts out open windows

and rises from dawn’s fields

night odors along the beach

aromas from ovens and sizzling skillets

the rain smell as I remove my coat


I’ll just have to see if Portugal invites me in

and offers the drink of a new life

0 views

Recent Posts

See All

the belly button – vestige of the motorway we rolled in here on

returning with the dogs one morning and looking through the sliding door I see a large white bird with something orange in its beak - my prized goldfish shouting unholies with arms nearly unhinged I a

what wheels don’t like the pre-cut ruts of an easy journey following others inside a predictable caravan there is great comfort but the moments of life I’ll remember were wrong turns and stupid moves