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