ROVINJ

The longed for humid summer air gently whispering through the white veil that is surrounding my lush retreat,
as orange feathered chickens around the cusping olive trees peak.

Old, wooden flooring beneath my naked feet,
as the song of old men singing in the shed down the vineyard seeps,

through the needles of the mighty cactus ahead, ripe with redden fruit,
enveloping the shielded terrace around which apple trees blossom and root.

A donkey’s neigh briefly cutting through the peaceful quiet,
scared up by a black and orange cat slinking into the serene image that I admire.

A deep breath in,
the sun kissing my eyes, my nose and then my chin,

and creating a multilayered watercolor painting in the sky, unique and pure,
like only in Istria it could occur.