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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=473880" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Portugal In September</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=473880" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Portugal in September. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=473880" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Perfect translucent day and I can see the peculiar nature again, <br>as it is no longer a blur of glaring sunlight. It is like meeting <br>an old friend, one who was rumored to have died, in a country <br>I will not see again. Evergreens, carob and olive trees lost in <br>the mist of time, forever alone in the transience of seasons. <br>I also see glimpses of the sea it doesn’t interest me, not today <br>anyway, but I do notice it is deep blue and has white sails on. <br>On my scooter I drive across a narrow bridge they have been <br>working on so it can take heavy lorries, a road is being built <br>somewhere out of sight. Wish I were a painter, fair clouds on <br>azure sky, could be smoke signals sent by an Indian tribe yet <br>to be discovered, I see the past and future at the same time. <br>Bewildering, do I drive in a landscape of ancient dreams? <br>I better stop find at a café, drink a “Bica” (coffee) before I fade <br>into the mystery of nature and can’t find my way back home.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Oskar+Hansen">Oskar Hansen</a></strong></div>