Luca D’Alberto’s soft neoclassical tunes
whisper in my ears.
Piano keys interweave
with violin pizzicatos
in an orchestral crescendo.
The wide array of trees swaying,
to the beat of the lovely breeze.
The sun nonchalantly peering
in and out amongst the many clouds
that pepper the blue skyline.
The wind picks up playing havoc with my
hairless head. The trees
now veer dangerously
to the ground below.
The loose papers fly off.
My Panama hat takes off like a seagull
leaping into flight.
The cigar remains firmly between my lips
and the laptop in front of me.
But my mind.
Lost in the ambiguity of time.
Lost in the boundlessness of space.