This is where the lion-livered long-loved Leo lived and lounged,
Sauntered and snoozed, panted and peed, barked and bounded.
Sharp-fanged, ruthless killer of fleas,
His world was the malodorous bases of walls, rat-rich rank garbage heaps
And the suspicious scents of sundry others of his canine kind.
Snarling scourge of cowardly cats and timid terroriser of tourists
Leo lived for the gentle fondling approval of old ladies
And the rough, rough, rough and tumble, rumbustious squealing joy of children.
Here in his kennel he quivered and whimpered as he dreamed siesta dreams
Of chasing rabbits, of devastating his enemies
And conquering long-legged simpering heat radiating females.
The dusty corners that Leo sniffed are still there,
While amongst the rubbish heaps and the lamp post borders of his territory,
A new generation of cats slink unchallenged.
For long-tongued Leo, long gone, is now just a blur in two dog-eared snapshots.
On his kennel, his proud name fades in sunlight fierce as a lion.
There is something special about places where people have managed to survive in the interstices between boulders.
There is something special about the people who have managed to survive in the interstices between boulders.
A fruit tree and a single brassica share the same pocket of soil, carefully protected by a little stone wall.
There is something special.
Portugal is a country where wonderful flowers blossom in profusion in gardens and hedges.
Portugal is a country where one can find plastic roses growing in a concrete pot.
The roses have faded to a surreal funereal pallor. I guess they don’t require much watering…
People are fascinating!
Here I am in the Stone Age, which is, of course, today, and will be tomorrow. Despite the rise (and fall) of many other natural and human-created materials, stone is still with us, and will out-survive us far into the future, even if ground down to grains of sand.
I am in Portugal, and I’m looking at Material Memories, and my first thoughts are about stone.