this morning i sipped on a macchiato by the sea, my guests were wind & boats & clouds, & Alessia. we stared up at the vultures & snakes & lions all curled up in the carved wooden door of beit-al-jaib, the house of wonder, towering & regal. walked through the scraggly, sun-soaked gardens of royal graves, where time had smeared inscriptions blank with confusion. what does history speak or say? how do you speak or say history? the best part of walking through stone town is looking up and looking within. the big tree was planted over a hundred years ago near the friday mosque. if you close your eyes, you can imagine women peering out from their courtyards and latticed verandahs. and they are a part of this walk this morning. we ooh & ahh the embroidered dreams of india, hinting distant rajasthani desert laments. and there's that lone arab man with his hot tea and ready-made cafe blasting taarab-infused music from his mini samsung, smoking away and looking out to prison & bawe. the world is very much with us in this town, silence & shade wedged between the kelele.
