voci

The sun glints brilliantly off the faces of clustered houses. The bustling sound of a village, crammed on top of itself over and over, rings in the heart of it all. Roof upon roof, wall stuck to wall, connected by a series of ledges throughout. A rooster announces the morning hours too late. The neighbors gesture wildly out the window, something about a severed head and rooster stew. The woman across the alley opens her frame to pull in the billowing clothes on the line. Little boys' yells echo below, running in shorts, tripping over a worn out soccer ball, the boys' legs tanned a deep brown. Small chimneys cough out their ash and smoke. Stray cats whine loudly as they rummage through the trash, hoping for the fisherman's leftovers.
I stand on the deck of my humble boat, feeling the old, strong wooden platform beneath my bare feet. The smell of freshly caught fish and sea clings to my clothes, surrounds me in air. The sun lightly warms my neck as I look towards home. Every face turned in greeting and I wave happily in return.
I wanted to get lost. I wanted to get lost and I wanted to be home. So I painted.