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Beaches like these inspired some tales of the book. Specially those tales with mermaids were inspired by the white sand and the blue waves. This is a photo of Comporta beach in Alentejo (South of Lisbon). Enjoy!
The gardens of the tale "That Butterfly" are in Lisbon. In June, there are balls all over the city, in the public gardens. There is one plant that people buy. It has intense smell, it is like the garden is at our home. Some people like to place the plant in the moonlight... This plant is from India... and is called "mangerico". See the photo and the poems. Leave message in the box (to the right of this blog). Thanks
Part III
But then reality shook up the writer of this story,
like a sharp, thin and strong current of cool air.
He started to think about how the reader would
see the story. And frightened by the thought:
"If I had known that this story could be read as a
real one, I would have written it differently", he stopped.
There might be another end, a happy one, if the reader
wants it, but at the moment this is the end he intended
me to let you know. It gives light to the dark
side of reality. He hopes not to waist your time.
But enough of talking, here it is... the end.
He stopped and returned home, next day would be
another usual working day. Suddenly, when he passed
the last corner, before the last garden before
reaching home, he found her. Dead on the floor
with the wings dissolved... He looked steadily
and tried to put them together again, but
without success. How could his love die like that?
The colours of her wings were no longer those of
life, but colours of death and sorrow. He wasn’t able
to find her on time and save her from that miserable
misfortune. He should have had time to nurture their
love. Finally, he took his sword of the modern times
(the invisible one) and swore to save the dignity
of his dead love and fight those that kept him away
from her. Nevertheless, he was certain that his search for
justice had been accomplished.
He knew that if he would ever see her again the
butterfly no longer existed.
Love is like that, a vulnerable butterfly that entangles two people
together, if the beholders recognise it in each others' eyes.
If he is not recognised or nurtured he flies,
and by metamorphosis acquires the shape of another
person. He will transform himself just like in the Chinese text!...
A feeling that no text can completely portray.
And the writer wishes me to add: "life itself
can be a butterfly, a dream that when you
run after it, evil people want to destroy it... so
prepare yourself for a stormy ocean when you start
your journey to the island of dreams."
The end
Do you know that some people believe that the
dream we have is directly linked to our thoughts just before we fell asleep? Unfortunately, this was not the case for me during that night. I just had a deep sleep, the night was like a 5 minutes experience. The new day woke me up with the sound of rain on the blinds, it was pouring. During the day, I was helpless to arrange some time to visit our garden... it was out of the city. Intuitively my eyes sought resemblances in other gardens but they found nothing more than feelings of frustration and regret for lost opportunities to catch the butterfly. In my trips, the traffic lights were like a plague that made me lose some time. But ironically they were the only shiny lights I could see in the city. On the weekend I went to our garden but didn’t find you. Monday, shaken by my incapability, I sat on a garden bench and I read again the ancient text. My senses were very refined and that led to notice an intriguing sentence: "a butterfly going from garden to garden..." Maybe, the appealing of the text to me was not a coincidence, and my human butterfly was living
in another garden...
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