*CA*
They talked of nothing in particular
They sit on a bench along a cobbled walkway in the oldest district of Lisbon, on a sunny afternoon, speaking casually and comfortably of nothing in particular, watching with quiet pleasure as the little dog eats a croissant in front of a tile mural depicting the self-sacrifice of Martim Moniz during the assault of the Castelo de São Jorge on a sunny afternoon in 1147.
And I sit in a cloth deck chair overlooking the newly-mowed yard on a sunny Midwest American afternoon, with my laptop on a small table, and a tabby cat snoring softly in an adjoining chair, and the breeze carries the smell of grass clippings and the distant sounds of 12th century combat and the hushed conversation of two old men on a bench in Lisbon.
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