Ringing Phone

Ringing phone It is a perfectly quiet winter day I listen to distant noise dogs bark -can`t avoid that in Algarve- smoke from chimneys goes straight up before disbursing and disappearing. A few clouds drifts about like wedding dresses of the unmarried the sun is a golden coin captain Hook would kill for. I smell grilled sardines, the opening and closing of doors and a cat sits on a wall watching me. I sternly tell myself to go for a walk before it gets afternoon and cold again, but I blithely ignore the voice I feel so wonderfully lazy I drift on a cloud of slothful bliss then the phone rings when I answer a voice tells me it was a wrong number