the miradouro
Climbed up to Senhora do Monte tonight, your miradouro, the highest one. The whole city below like a map someone dropped. The castle lit up, the bridge, the river going silver.
I sat on your bench, the one at the end, under the pine. I stayed until the lights came on.
Fátima says you've been tired. Rest, avó. The city will still be here. I'll describe it again next week.