Hello Iracambi
It´s 6.54 Mon. 1/21/08. Uneven grass covers rolling hillside-below-just before the strata-street-are reeds like bulrushes and a small fruit tree encloses a ditch and just after and more to the right is a stretch of different trees-I look for two the same and am not sure I see any. This kind of bio-diversity-is humbling. From benches around our kitchen table under the veranda-a vista belo-a beautiful view of this-and of vaca´s-cow´s that lie on the green-trees placed alone or in small patches around them and cut into the edge of a hill-vermelho terra-red earth-as if someone tore up a chunk of this grass-creating a precipe perhaps cut by the river that runs through out Iracambi. And a mist shifts and moves left across the picture-it´s almost ridiculous how beautiful it all is.
Tuffy-the residant guard-smells like himself- wet dog beside me, and leaves his smell behind to go lie beneath the wooden table-the songs of the passaro-birds-stop and start sporadically-different ones responding to the calls-and it all blends into white noise with the cachoeira-the waterfall. My head is light with my new hairstyle-a short moff of dark curls-last night we had a festa as my hair was chopped off-a feat requiring the assistance of 3 other pessoa´s besides myself-leaving behind my uneven mess of hair-and it feels good.
They call me crazy crazy girl-because I cut off all my long loose curls -because I´m always dancing-because I drink too much coffee-because I´m forever fumbling around in portuguese-spurts of english escaping in frustration or excitement or just igorance. I´m still missing my bag-I will feel more settled when it comes and fills the space of my non-existant roomates bed and side of my room. Not exactly sure what I´ll be doing today but whatever it is will be a good break from the two days of slightly crazy festas in town and at centro. I hear weekends at least once a month will look something like this one-everybody picking up their energy for the twilight hours with brasilian, cuban, latin, reggae and other music-sweet crackers and their poison of the night-cachaça or beer most often. Easy to loose ties to the outside world at times like these.
Tuffy-the residant guard-smells like himself- wet dog beside me, and leaves his smell behind to go lie beneath the wooden table-the songs of the passaro-birds-stop and start sporadically-different ones responding to the calls-and it all blends into white noise with the cachoeira-the waterfall. My head is light with my new hairstyle-a short moff of dark curls-last night we had a festa as my hair was chopped off-a feat requiring the assistance of 3 other pessoa´s besides myself-leaving behind my uneven mess of hair-and it feels good.
They call me crazy crazy girl-because I cut off all my long loose curls -because I´m always dancing-because I drink too much coffee-because I´m forever fumbling around in portuguese-spurts of english escaping in frustration or excitement or just igorance. I´m still missing my bag-I will feel more settled when it comes and fills the space of my non-existant roomates bed and side of my room. Not exactly sure what I´ll be doing today but whatever it is will be a good break from the two days of slightly crazy festas in town and at centro. I hear weekends at least once a month will look something like this one-everybody picking up their energy for the twilight hours with brasilian, cuban, latin, reggae and other music-sweet crackers and their poison of the night-cachaça or beer most often. Easy to loose ties to the outside world at times like these.
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