K. Barratt


A mandolin tune by the seaside. Wine, soft cheese, firm grapes, children flying a kite, madonnas nursing on benches in front of the beach, lovers blind to everything, old ladies laughing, eating ice cream, grandads playing one more game of chess. A woman with dark, cat-like glasses, dress in black against the azure and the gold. Young girls with coquettish flair sitting at the back of vespas. Umbrellas playing to be mini circus tents, specking the sand with oranges and greens and pinks. And the transparent waters of the Mediterranean murmuring its siren song; its cool, sapphire and emerald song; timeless song, flying with thee breeze, to the tune of a lonely mandolin.


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