Another day in Lisbon
People down there and me here, at the terrace, in silence, over the city. Which drums and horns down below.
At a certain point, only human eye can capture it.
The sun sinking behind the red bridge. A vortex of light from orange to yellow mingling into the light blue. The clouds follow the degradé of colours into the still whitish blue sky.
As if it has been drawn.
And now, it changes very fast, purple is the first colour resisting behind the bridge, down in the valley. It is beautiful. They should have sent a poet, says Judy Foster, in: Contact.
One of the movies of my life.
We can see the yellow turning into light green blending in the light blue sky. A ray of golden light crosses the air. A plane.
Man’s work ripping nature.
And you can hear the bells ringing shyly every quarter of an hour. The sky still resists keeping all colours, and the city lightens its own lamps. Like stars sparkling amongst humans.
On the other bank of the river, Cristo Rei erupts, man’s work, disguised as Jesus, the saviour, a ray of light coming from within Him.
The red bridge, once Salazar now 25th of April, forms two triangles, just like the golden gate in SF. The edges of the triangles touching the thin line separating the purple from the dark red, and the lines of the triangle sparkling with golden little stars.
Or maybe it is just Christmas dismissed lights…
The sky is black but not enough to see the stars, only the lights coming from the city, at our feet.
*Thank you for inspiring, the absence of your eyes made me describe it to you.