I know you don’t believe in wonderland or magic places or fairytales. Yet I, who have travelled through the looking glass and back so many times, dedicate the first dew of this fall to you. It is pure and luminous and ephemeral and it sew priceless jewelry onto the spider webs. This dew was born of the heavy clouds of last night’s storm and it carries the genius of the ocean over the prosaic peace of my garden, showing it completely transfigured. I also dedicate to you the fairytale houses that are undoubtedly inhabited by elves and blissfully winged creatures. And the enchanted forest of Broceliande where Merlin is entrapped into…
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Teach me, my love
While wandering in Alfama one afternoon, with fado and just the right amount of saudade on my mind, I stumbled upon a poetic wall – literally. The whole world’s poetry was written on that wall: there were a few hand-painted ceramic plates with blue and white verses adorning the wall, but the most brilliant, heart-breaking and dramatic of them all was scribbled in pencil by some anonymous guy who had trully encountered the love of his life. it went like this: into the waves of your hair / You taught me how to swim/ Now that you are bald / Teach me how to skate