Caravan (7) Mid-June 1967

     Like Rick, I enjoy watching the sun as it shines behind the house at this time of day.

      I started painting the house on a horizontal canvas, 70 x 50, three thousand five hundred centimetres in area and two hundred and forty in perimeter striving to contain the wrapping of a universe, spherical, enormous and pink. Other colours sprout from the music which most afternoons escapes out of the open windows. Though far from being my masterpiece, the image is developing, smooth like a rhapsody. 

 

      - Ready for the basement, Nar?

     The question rings out behind me, breaking off my futuristic wanderings.

      - Hi, Robbie. You startled me ...

    - I didn´t mean to. I only came to tell you that you can come down and listen in this evening, if you like. Dylan said he wants to meet you.

     The brush falls out of my hand, oil paint staining the grass blue. Robbie stares at it for a moment, pulling a face that turns into half a smile. Then, turning on his heel, he walks back to the house and calls back:

     - Don´t come before seven!

 

     Seven

     Seven, minus two  =  five    :-:

     Five words  ~  the key to the treasure    :-:

                                    DYLAN  WANTS  TO  MEET  ME  *