Its doors were swung wide open, and firmly
stuck in place, as if stoppers prevented them
from closing - thus deliberately exposing - a stony,
stuccoed presence, for ages, derelict and defaced.
But it didn't care. In fact, it stoically stood there,
passive to the plethora of invading greenery; a
snub to the supposed shambles of its neglected scenery.
It had nothing to hide,
unlike, its scarlet shuttered neighbour,
on the opposite side, of the cracking, cobbled road.
Oh, the heavy load of secrets it must have hoarded,
stored and boarded, inside its padlock protected door.
No, it definitely identified more
with the punctured structure
perched proudly on a peak, nearby.
Weak, from wind blown wounds,
it stood windowless and roofless, yet,
was crowned the most hospitable of homes,
the perfect, permanent address;
1st prize for picky pigeons seeking nests.
In second place,
for its geometric brilliance,
and traces of richly, brush stroked hues,
was the abode boasting views of the Aegean,
whose signature sea blues, once cruised
the surface of its original facade - now an
open-air exhibit, of peeling patches of patina,
a cryptic, colour flawed collage.
And so, when passing by this beauty, on my daily
morning walks, I can't help but to wonder, what it would
say if it could talk. Are those who inhabit its interiors,
well loved and card for, like its outer girth, that is hugged
by pretty blooms and rays of warmth and nourishing self-worth?
I often ponder such questions, of the deeply personal kind,
while wandering the pastures of the Cretan countryside.
Once,
while pausing to admire the stillness of the sea, I got
wind of an answer, blowing in the breeze, when a sudden
gale snatched the gist of wisdom from the gusty vicinity, and
it disappeared forever, zigzagging through the rows of olive trees.
Oh, if only walls could talk.
Thanks for visiting!
Wishing you a warm
and cozy weekend!
stuck in place, as if stoppers prevented them
from closing - thus deliberately exposing - a stony,
stuccoed presence, for ages, derelict and defaced.
But it didn't care. In fact, it stoically stood there,
passive to the plethora of invading greenery; a
snub to the supposed shambles of its neglected scenery.
It had nothing to hide,
unlike, its scarlet shuttered neighbour,
on the opposite side, of the cracking, cobbled road.
Oh, the heavy load of secrets it must have hoarded,
stored and boarded, inside its padlock protected door.
No, it definitely identified more
with the punctured structure
perched proudly on a peak, nearby.
Weak, from wind blown wounds,
it stood windowless and roofless, yet,
was crowned the most hospitable of homes,
the perfect, permanent address;
1st prize for picky pigeons seeking nests.
In second place,
for its geometric brilliance,
and traces of richly, brush stroked hues,
was the abode boasting views of the Aegean,
whose signature sea blues, once cruised
the surface of its original facade - now an
open-air exhibit, of peeling patches of patina,
a cryptic, colour flawed collage.
And so, when passing by this beauty, on my daily
morning walks, I can't help but to wonder, what it would
say if it could talk. Are those who inhabit its interiors,
well loved and card for, like its outer girth, that is hugged
by pretty blooms and rays of warmth and nourishing self-worth?
I often ponder such questions, of the deeply personal kind,
while wandering the pastures of the Cretan countryside.
Once,
while pausing to admire the stillness of the sea, I got
wind of an answer, blowing in the breeze, when a sudden
gale snatched the gist of wisdom from the gusty vicinity, and
it disappeared forever, zigzagging through the rows of olive trees.
Oh, if only walls could talk.
Thanks for visiting!
Wishing you a warm
and cozy weekend!
