By Juana Camaño.
Blue, yellow, green.
The sky, hay and grass.
From where I’m at I can see the little black birds flying into the air, pass the radio tower and through the clouds. They chant blissfully as they go.
Some are walking around, others are jumping in their rare and peculiar way, and others are looking for a mealworm, seeds or even sticks. Birds are exciting and rather curious, their little minds, hands and beak are creators of small welcoming homes.
In the course of my writing, the sun has got through the amber tree tops in the autumn afternoon. The grass has grown slightly yellow, tall and still. It looks almost combed. Not all is overgrown, there is the bright green grass left but covered with fall leaves.
Beyond the fence sits the lagoon, it is half filled because of the lack of rain. Surrounding it there’s a white salty crust coming down from the borders. There used to be little ducks living there in the reed, but they left without telling.
A cold breeze is playing around with my hair. The sun is setting. Thee moon is up and has been watching me for a while now.
I can smell pure air, as if I were in the countryside and hear the crickets chirping in the distance. It’s time to go in and prepare a warm cup of tea. I hope you’ve felt the same as I this autumn afternoon.
(It was in May of 2018.)
Juana Camaño
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