Tranquility

We are satisfied to spend much of our time at home, rising late each morning then reading and, in my case, writing. We are visited often by 'as galinhas', the local chickens who are understandably curious about their new neighbours. They arrive daily to share our breakfast and then seem content to potter around, often staring intently at us before continuing their endless foraging. On Monday evening, the rain was persistent but we sat out under the parasol defiantly watching the spectacle.

September rain.

A storm; stair-rods hurtling downwards like glass spears.

Piercing the canopy at will, all life darting for cover.

Disintegrating. A billion tiny crystals as they hit the ground and vanish.

Gentler now, it's temper spent. A lullaby of pitter-patter on the leaves above.

An apology.

The evenings are warm and it is a true pleasure to be able to sit outside just watching; firecrests, wagtails and finches flitting around in the undergrowth and kestrels soaring above on the thermals. As day turns to dusk, the birds give way to the night creatures as bats fly around silently and stealthily, performing their acrobatics and entertaining us as they hunt. Rustlings in the shrubbery gives a hint of other creatures awakening but they are seldom seen and we are left to our imaginings.

As we reach the second week, the sun is shining and the mist has retreated leaving blue skies and a comforting warmth. The lizards emerge from their homes in the stone walls to absorb the heat of the day; sometimes the wall seems alive with them, tens and hundreds at a time standing to attention atop a stone or emerging from their stony homes only to impulsively drop and dart across the gravel to a yet undecided destination. They run freely, entertaining us frequently with their antics: they stop suddenly to stare and when still, they stand on alternate legs as though the ground beneath them is too hot to bear, they are hopelessly inquisitive exploring our feet and shoes, walls and logs, they greedily accept cold watermelon and lick the condensation from a glass with their long pink unfurling tongues. A cloud passes over and they return, en masse, retreating to the wall until they feel the sun again. Sometimes they become victims of their own curiosity, finding their way into, and getting trapped inside cupboards and light fittings, but generally they don't venture into the house, preferring their wall caves or sunbathing.