In a green valley half way on the Drau river there was a little village of few houses and one of them, the first on the way of the Fire Brigades had a large grass field in front and some trees with a family of porcupines living inside. The corn field in front kept the trucks noise from the road at a level lower than bumble bees buzz but sometimes we had to endure with the otherwise healthy smell of mountains of manure. Sitting in the porch and sketching the panorama on the Karawanken with a cigar and a glass of cognac was all you needed for full happyness at sunset.
The heat almost unbearable for humans was good for the cactus to grow between the dry stones on the wild coast between Trieste and Sistiana.
Transparency dominates the first layer of water from the shore to the first foamy ripple. Then it gets darker and finally, after two or three wavelenghts the total reflection dominates and the sea becomes a mirror for the sunshine and the sky.
A small island of the Istrian coast suggests a peaceful view unless ones notices the water is rushing in a maelstrom that threatens to sink the whole sea, perhaps including the island and the author himself.
The rocks few meter from the shore appear as a fully independent island and an autonomous world for the little creatures crawling on it.
The west coast is barely few hundred meter long squeezed between containers, condos, shipyards and refineries at the four cardinal points. Nevertheless the stones can be a good resting place after a sweaty equatorial jog looking at the slow activity of the malay fishermen and quick flights of the brilliant blue kingfisher.
A big Moon rises above this imaginary chinese lake, resting place for migratory birds reaching it late at night after a thousands mile journey.
In a green valley half way on the Drau river there was a little village of few houses and one of them, the first on the way of the Fire Brigades had a large grass field in front and some trees with a family of porcupines living inside. The corn field in front kept the trucks noise from the road at a level lower than bumble bees buzz but sometimes we had to endure with the otherwise healthy smell of mountains of manure. Sitting in the porch and sketching the panorama on the Karawanken with a cigar and a glass of cognac was all you needed for full happyness at sunset.
The heat almost unbearable for humans was good for the cactus to grow between the dry stones on the wild coast between Trieste and Sistiana.
Transparency dominates the first layer of water from the shore to the first foamy ripple. Then it gets darker and finally, after two or three wavelenghts the total reflection dominates and the sea becomes a mirror for the sunshine and the sky.
A small island of the Istrian coast suggests a peaceful view unless ones notices the water is rushing in a maelstrom that threatens to sink the whole sea, perhaps including the island and the author himself.
The rocks few meter from the shore appear as a fully independent island and an autonomous world for the little creatures crawling on it.
The west coast is barely few hundred meter long squeezed between containers, condos, shipyards and refineries at the four cardinal points. Nevertheless the stones can be a good resting place after a sweaty equatorial jog looking at the slow activity of the malay fishermen and quick flights of the brilliant blue kingfisher.
A big Moon rises above this imaginary chinese lake, resting place for migratory birds reaching it late at night after a thousands mile journey.
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