Question.

Posted on Tuesday, July 11, 2017

Or questions!

Do you come here often to the blog?
Is it your first time here? Or did you read a post in the past that you've enjoyed and decided to check this tiny corner again?

See, I don't have a computer right now. And my phone's screen is broken (still usable, but broken). I do have, usually while walking the big avenue by the sea or right before sleep, thoughts for posts "I really should interview B., her essays are amazing!" or "eggplant à la Portuguese" I should post this, or when I'm laughing at family stories or anything else, because I laugh outloud alone so many times, and I even keep a small notebook to write only silly stories that happened to anyone near me.

But usually I don't post. This blog didn't had any other intention than to be a virtual memento of my life and I don't have the ambition or expectation that thousands of readers wish eagerly that I post something. But the truth is, I decided to take a look at my stats and there are plenty of readers visiting this small blog every day! Who are you? Do I have an excuse to borrow some money and buy a computer (because my finances are very...ahh, low lately)?

The question is: does anyone beside my sister reads this :)? And where are you from? What do you like to read?

And thank you for visiting! Mi casa es su casa, or as we say in Portuguese

"Faça como estivesse em casa!"

And by the way, in case you're there too, you can find me on rare ocasions on IG by the name @rita_tocta where more than posting I peruse beautiful of users who live with goats.






Poem after tonight's storm

Posted on Sunday, June 18, 2017


Must the man be who he is?
Must the man loose all before he changes?
Only the vain,
Only the vain, my dear.

A firefly passes by a couple,
The night remains the same
Except,
Everything is different.

We do nothing, and nothing we do,
The gods write beautiful stories,
We must live,
Live we must, my dear.

Because there will always be something that amazes you.
Love we do. Love is always offered.

Must the man be who he is?
Yes, that is the path.
Must the man loose all before he changes?

I cannot answer for that is not my story.
I'm just mesmerized by the firefly he brought with him.

And then it rained.
And we remained silent as the old night.

The night is so old and warm, sweet grandmother night, she hold me until I fell asleep.

Love is offered. Life is offered. We conquer only ourselves.

Not to be forgotten

Posted on

Low quality phone pics, big memories






















Some people dream the same dream

Posted on Thursday, March 9, 2017








Life,
Hosting us with delight,
Mothering us with love
In the arms of Nature.

We can hold each other
Even without 
Meeting
Even with an ocean
In between
Just by dreaming
The same dream.


Rita