a river and a lake

A river and a Lake
Knee deep in succulent green grass the goats stand, olive trees around
look grey in comparison, when they see me they are weary, look at me
trying to guess my intention. Their eyes are full of sunlight.
I haven’t walked here for a long time, rain has seen to that. It is so quiet
deep inside this neglected landscape, nothing stirs, no birds fly and
clouds look glued to the sky. Perhaps I’m a ghost of my own past,
doomed to every forenoon to walk through here to where the track ends
and the mountains begin. A vague toll reaches me, the church bells of
Benafim. Another death as sunlight glints on coffin handles. A pair of
butterflies sit on a straw, I try to take a picture, but they will not pose
for me today and floats away. I meet an old woman, she’s collecting
firewood, has a bundle full, she looks up and says:” fine weather now
but it will rain tomorrow again” I agree, the lake, that disappeared years
ago, is full, but the rowboat by its shore is a skeleton. And the river,
where we used to swim long ago, is full too, it inanely runs to meet its
destiny. Yet, this year, though, it will carry enough water to keep us cool
through the summer months.