It was noisy
Outside our little stone house in Crete.
In the evenings,
With the setting sun,
Rami and I would sit in the garden,
reading.
The neighbours
Would chat and laugh,
loudly,
in Greek;
They would shout,
amidst
the children trundling about on hard plastic trikes.
Young girls would run in and out of houses,
The cicadas chirruping
In time
with the
owl who was hidden in a tree.
One of the children,
Sprio
Who must have been only
Two or three,
Would peer through the fence
And watch us in our silence.
Occasionally he would be told to leave us alone,
At other times,
He would just stare
wide-eyed,
Brown, tousled hair
&
reminding me.
