L'aura del Campo

Taking a bath. The World Cup continues.

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          SUMMER: 1 Rahmat (24 June)          

Quiet. Too much quiet. I woke up to the sounds in the kitchen above me, which was great because I didn't have a clue what time is was. (7:19) I am not used to this much dark, this much quiet. I will adjust .

I was able to take a bath. Soak in silence, relax. It has been a long time.

Misty-the-cat likes me, but she had fireflies to observe and other things to do besides entertain me at dusk.

World Cup

The Sweet Sixteen: Germany/Sweden; Ecuador/England; Netherlands/Portugal; Argentina/Mexico; Switzerland/Ukraine; Spain/France; Brasil/Ghana; Italy/Australia.

Germany has already defeated Sweden 2-0, but I would've picked right on that one. Would've cheered for Sweden, though.

The others: How about Ecuador over England? I've been wrong about Ecuador up to now. Maybe they are for real. The English easily get too full of themselves.

Netherlands over Portugal. Will the Dutch wake up and score?

Argentina over Mexico, only because the Mexicans look off their feed. That would set up an exciting match between Germany and Argentina.

Switzerland over Ukraine. The Ukrainians have surprized me, but not enough to make me believe they can defeat the young Swiss, even with an injury to a key defender.

Brasil over Ghana in what could be the best game of the round. I predict a high score, like 4-3.

Italy over Australia. Italy has the experience.

Spain over France. My easiest pick. The French have NOT woke up and Spain will put them to sleep. Spain's prize for winning? Brasil. Ouch.

IMAGES

On Monterrey:

Willow and mulberry; sweet smell of queen anne's lace; pink and white bindweed; white primrose; parched grass; purple thistle; poison ivy blocking my way to the mulberries; calm water in the culvert; orange trumpet vines covering a fence; golden raintree; golden yarrow.

Eye of the hurricane

Whirl of grey by moonlight,
darksome swirl by day.
The center rises towards blue sky,
towards the stars display.

And I am tossed with salt of spray,
the surge that rides the waves,
yet at your center all rests calm,
in your eyes no blue dismay.

Cold lightning rages in the clouds,
a twister spawns and sways,
but through the night, the darksome night,
your pale eye blues to day.

And I forever would abide
in your center, calm and gay [163.201]