Through Evora (Arriving Home)

As I sit in a walled courtyard outside Art Cafe in Evora reading Wandering by Hermann Hesse, my senses come alive

His words bring gentle water to my eyes, soothing love, a bond, an understanding – while a table of ageing hippies beside me play and sing and share and laugh and be, one of them, a grey haired man with a matching thin grey beard and weary but warm smile, stands and attempts to teach a confused round-bellied younger looking man, still in shorts and flip-flops while the evenings cold and fresh wind merges with the twilight, to juggle.

There is kinship; it smells of it, reeks of it, there is brotherhood.

They laugh. Life is so simple, so beautiful to witness. Words brought me here, my brother Hesse.

His words are the essence of love my heart sings.

I sit back, breathe in and realise I forgot to meditate today.

I pick up the Art Café ‘house tea’ I purchased; mint, cinnamon, lemon and orange peel with a splash of honey

I savour every sip

I imagine the mint bush, lonely now without these leaves, I thank that bush, in thought, forgetting all other moments that I may have been more grateful for a plant

for in this present

I felt like this

was all there had ever been


Evora, Portugal // 25”04”17

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