A morning of blue skies I
wandered through the village of Foz do Arelho near may home town. By lunchtime
I went into a roadside restaurant that was advertising prawn curry.
Irresistible. I entered and to my surprise the esplanade seemed to be set among
the flowers of a garden, next door, in front of an old abandoned house. The
house was blue and the flowers were yellow. The sheet of glass that separated
these two different worlds allowed an illusion of continuity. Suddenly a child
jumped into the gloom in front of me as if to run toward the yellow flowers. A
surreal and magical moment. A miracle where the vulgar has become
extraordinary.
And the prawn curry tasted beautiful.
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