The village sleeps under the fiery sun,
prostrate and still ..
dreaming an age-old dream –
high walls intrigue ..
what lies beyond those teasing tendrils
of luxuriant vines
that twist and entwine
in vegetative embrace
with riotous golden-hooded flowers;
facsimiles of the more familiar columbines?
It seems to my stranger’s eyes
that beyond these painted gates,
Tiepolo blue as the cloud-free skies,
a fabled garden might slumber in the heat –
a haunt of the shimmering of wing;
of humming-birds and butterflies;
the birthplace of bee-eaters
and emerald-feathered parakeets –
Another Eden; their own iridescent paradise …