Where are they today, on what side,
my favorite earrings? -
The fire begins to die out,
the poor girl wants to cry.
And they don't know where and how -
a great wind sprang up
And they don't know where and how -
the oak leaves just fall,
on the girls' lap leaf by leaf has fallen
Girls will make aureate earrings from them.
from the poem of Papusza "Leaf earings".
I was already very frustrated with my daily gallop due to the difficult experiences, and besides that, war broke out, and we can feel its exhalation also in distant Galway. I wanted to cry like the girl from the poem by Papusza because cloudy thoughts convinced me that I had lost something beautiful in my life. It was then that I signed up for the poetry workshop Snop of shadows led by the poet and prose writer Jacek Bierut. There was a winter poetry series online, a few one-day meetings. And I found myself in the last March class.
There is lead dawn at the Gate of the House. I wake up in Ukraine, the wind tickles the leaves and bends the beige grasses.
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.
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.
But if you tame me
it will be as if the sun
came to shine on my lifeAntoine’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.
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.
Not everything that is possible can be understood by humanS.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.
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 doColdplay “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.
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.