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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Colorful lights on the Christmas tree are breathing. Tap water drips in the silence. Under the warm yellow light from the lamp, dust shines instead of snow. I haven’t posted anything on the blog for a long time, but I really wanted to be offline without fitting into any templates. It grew as easy in me as un-shaved eyebrows. And I like it.
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But if you tame me
it will be as if the sun
came to shine on my life
Antoine’a de Saint-Exupéry “The Little Prince”
My colleagues at work collected a considerable amount of bubble wrap for me. Now I can cover photo frames safely in it, and yellow bowls like a Lisbon tram, a ceramic bird, or a coffee machine. Then, carry them to a new home.
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There is a graphite filter outside the window, but it is fresh air and not raining yet. I eat a yummy tart with the last strawberries. The smell of a cinnamon candle is in the kitchen, sunflower petals on the tablecloth, and autumn socks with hedgehogs, squirrels, leaves, and forest mushrooms on the sofa. I haven’t published anything on the blog for a long time, although I consistently write in my journal, if necessary, even at 5 am. But there are just scraps of feelings, fears, little joys, or gray clouds that cover the light, sometimes. Because in October, a time of change is hitting the blue door of my current port.
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Continue readingAnd all the roads that lead you there were winding
And all the lights that light the way are blinding
There are many things that
I would like to say to you but I don’t know how
(…)
Oasis “Wonderwall”
Not everything that is possible can be understood by human
S.Lem “Eden”
I’ve always found machines soulless. However, life surprised me with another poetic detail in a place that is supposed to be non-poetic. But how Edward Stachura used to say: Everything is poetry.
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On Sunday morning I make scrambled eggs with fresh basil and olive oil. And the first song which I hear is called Yellow.
Look at the stars
Look how they shine for you
and everything you do
Coldplay “Yellow”
People who appear in my life are like stars. They make streams of light illuminate various spaces during my journey. Old and new friends.
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You feel mighty free and easy and comfortable on a raft.
Mark Twain
On a warm afternoon, Marisol, Jacek, Marcin and I, arrive at Menlo Pier, just 4 km from Galway. Jim Morrissey from Kayakmór sits on the bench in front of the water, we say hello and we keep waiting for a few more people. Behind the car, we change into wetsuits, put on matching life jackets. Yellow, orange, red, and blue kayaks gleam on the shore against the background of the sweet flag.
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Recently I made a brooch for a woman who loves airplanes. When I cut from felt the first plane in my life and sewed it with a purple thread on a black square, I remembered how much I like making and wearing brooches. Fall leaves, umbrellas, fat cats, birds, butterflies, vintage phones, doggies, and strawberries. Shapes took out from reality sprinkled with feelings and meetings.
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Transparent rain outside the window. Early in the morning, I bustle with the light from the blue chandelier. Coffee ground into the sand of July tastes like simplicity. I eat strawberries with yogurt, honey, oat bran, black sesame, and almond flakes.
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