Another poem by me.

"BETWEEN THE HILLS AND THE SEA"

it is lovely here with the sun coming through the eastern windows
off of the olive covered hills spotted with small white villas with red clay roofs.
the patio is of sand-colored brick and the tables are in blues
or yellows with the opposite colored chairs.

it is hot this early in the morning and there is no breeze from the sea
there is salt in the air and the waves can just be heard over the cars
that fill the street and the voices of the busy and burning people
who do not wish to speak.

the professor walks slowly down the hill in the same tweed suit
he has worn for ten years in this land. he does not seem to sweat
but he does smell strongly of it and cigarettes which he does not
smoke here, only at home.

he sits in the same seat every morning with a black coffee and a glass
of water without ice. he reads and marks books that are encased in
ornate leather covers with red beads embroidered into the shapes of
birds and trees. always alone.

the runner is in her thirties. strong and pretty and severe. chestnut
hair pulled into a ponytail. light blue shirt and shorts with expensive
shoes that change slightly every month, become new again. stretches
one leg then the other. drinks an apricot tea.

the runner stares at the hills whether she has company or not. sometimes
a man runs with her. never the same man. the men talk and laugh while
she looks up into the groves. she has smiled only once at the children
who did not notice.

they are in and out, too many to track or remember the names of. they
bring drinks and bread back to their parents or they skip school, hiding
in the cooler shadows within. they are always polite and their voices timid
in the darker corners.

the professor and the runner were there. five children. a happy tourist group
of eleven. a young couple and an old. the barista and the two waiters who were
laughing at some joke when the woman with suffering strapped to her walked in and sent them all away.