I remembered how is the feeling when you stare at stars. There are thousands of them, in front of a small white cottage with a red door in Connemara. We raise our heads up and contemplate sparkling points on a brisk night at the end of October.
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The weekend started with friends. Opening by an Italian coffee with Aga on a happy Woodquay Street. And the evening with Bia and Jack who brought us a plant straight from Brazil.
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The last morning in Turkey is lavender and pink. We are awakened by the sound of the Sea of Marmara. The first boats set off to Istanbul, the neighbors meet for a morning swim. We leave the room to the sandy shore. Ulvi our host from Efe Cafe has already prepared toasts and teas in bell glasses. He lights a cigarette and tells us about his everyday life in Silivri. In a moment we say goodbye in Turkish: Güle güle and leave the gate carefully so as not to run into a cat that has a bath under an olive tree at the corner of the street.
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– Can I get oranges?
-Madame, now is the season for apricots and cherries. In Spain, oranges are not harvested until September. At the moment you will only find old oranges.
-Ok, so then I would like apricots. They have an orange hue, too.
Sometimes the adventure starts late and completely unexpectedly, at 4:00 p.m. when you are moodily lying on the sofa. Then suddenly you want to eat something, but only in some beautiful place, far away, maybe on Lough Derg. Because it’s 90 km from Galway, where you’ve never been in your life.
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„We’re cosmonauts
Can I stay with you inside your brain
That way
We won’t be alone”
-so wrote Jamila Faber of Leeuwarden in the Netherlands in her poem. I discovered her, among other authors, in the album “Europe at Home”, where my text was also published.
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There is a world apart,
of elemental beauty carved by glacier,
where tiny wildflowers
pierce through limestone.
-a fragment of the poem The Breathing Burren by Maureen Grady.Continue reading
I love to discover charming things in what seems to me well-knowing or ordinary. Sometimes I have an idea of something or someone in my head. But then life overthrows walls of my thinking and as if by magic or twisting Arabela’s ring, it takes me to a wonderful world, but this is the same world that I supposedly know. Where the raindrops like blue slides in a kaleidoscope form a Socratic sentence: I know that I know nothing.
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The sun a sullen distant heatless disc – wrote Colm Keegan Irish poet in his “January Train”. Because dull, voiceless, gray, heavy, gloomy, lethargic – they are the words which can describe January in Ireland. And I was already preparing a text about dark days and my blue mood. Meanwhile, the sun woke up and brightened up our local world, though not for all days.
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Instead of unpacking the boxes in our new living room, we are going to Limerick, a city on the River Shannon, 85 km from Galway, which I really like. The rain is falling more and more, but I have a striped umbrella and it fits the colorful Limerick doors in Victorian townhouses. On the fence of the “People’s Park” we are welcomed by pictures of the inhabitants, and under the autumn trees, there are sculptures of painted horses.
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