The morning coffee smells like orange trees in the Doña Elvira square in Seville, although it is mystical gray outside the window. I am sitting on the sofa as on a small tiled bench. Instead of the sounds of water in the fountain, I hear the washing machine. Notebook based on corduroy legs. I can’t turn off poetry because it is my life.
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I was not prepared to seek God. After all, I did not have contact with him at long tome. That is why I was completely surprised by the proposal to start searching God at home among the pots and the pans. However, I agreed.
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This post is dedicated to Agnieszka
Yes, my life is made of little things. I like to discover them from graphite time when clouds and crows look to my window. So, sometimes I have the day marked of crispy bread, or, like last Friday, marked by notebooks. Then I feel simple happiness. Although it is fragile, I do not want to bind it, because I know that somewhere, once again it will charm me with its small motion.
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May the darkness within you recognize
there’s hope for clarity paths ahead
from the Imbolc blessing
Heavy clouds hug the beginning of February, the rain does want to stop. And the lockdown in Ireland will be until March. The crisis is perching on the windowsill along with green mold. Therefore, instead of looking out the window, I stare at Instagram, and I recognize a familiar symbol in the photo – a square cross made of rushes.
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Oh, let me get wet and cold at last. I want to do something useful for the earth today
– I thought, after a month of lockdown.
As was raining the volunteer’s clean up at Claddagh beach in Galway have been cancelled. But around midday the rain stopped, so Aga, Mary, and I took litter keepers, gloves and bags and we went to the shore of Atlantic.
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Outside the window is a November grey, cars move along the wet street, but their noise reminds me of the sound of the sea. The flame of a cinnamon candle lights up my kitchen, where I write letters to residents of nursing homes.
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Once again Ireland showed me that it does not take much to create the magic.
On the 1st of October is chilly and wet. I put on the Wave Maker’s orange jacket and get on my blue bike. Nothing is happening on Walter Macken Place, and the Mervue housing estate seems to be lifeless. I can see mold on the buildings and temporary road works on the street. However, when I look more closely, I can notice sunflowers in the garden and even a small greenhouse.
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Finally, I am going by train. No matter if only fifteen minutes, I feel the same call for adventure as if I were going to Dublin. Meanwhile, I get off in Athenry – a tiny town near Galway.
On the platform, I meet Bronagh. She is also a Wave Maker of Galway 2020. We will be flying kites with Hope it Rains. It is not raining, thanks God, but the wind is as usual. Who would have seen West Ireland without the wind?
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I love murals in urban space. But I missed them in Galway. Meanwhile, something has changed. Thought-provoking photomontages appeared on several buildings in my city, and they called to me.
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This year, the White Locomotive / “Biała Lokomotywa”/ – cozy literary festival from Łazieniec, in Poland organized by Daria Lisiecka, sat at my table in Galway, in Ireland. Locomotive whistled LIVE through the monitor window. For me it was an awesome experience, truly intense, but different if I could sit under a tree in the front of Edward Stachura’s house. However, digitally the White Locomotive had the same power to take me to the meadow.
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