A Morningin Rosario

Sitting on the balcony my notebook is shaded by me arm, my face by the door way I am set back from the sun in. My legs sizzle in the heat and my skin glories in the sensation as they balance on the bricks covered by peeling cement that make up the balustrades marking the balcony´s short perimeter. The pale blue sky (celeste in spanish) contrasts with the faded white and grey cement buildings in the foreground. Rust coloured brick aparts on my right. The sixth floor balcony is a riot with green plants and shades the white paint below. A wisp of cloud breaks into more and thinner sheets above me and is sure to disappear completely before it floats out of eye-shot. All around the differing decorative balustrades add texture above the bustling streets. The busy lives of florists and pedestrians mimicked by the pigeons flying between building above. The furthest building I can see is white against blue that grows paler closer to the horizon. On the left of this furthest building I can see the sky through the cage of someones balcony and through the building itself through a hole cut in its flesh. The sky is no nearer or further but it plays a funny trick with perspective.