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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The second wave of the epidemic came in autumn. Atlantic in Galway has been pouring from the sky for several days and the roar of the wind wakes up me at night. But the cry of revolution from Poland is louder than the stormy sea and it echoes in my heart.
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I cannot imagine my life without a bike. Ever since I can remember, the bicycle has always motivated me to the adventure. Even if I was riding to the store on the same street.
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Who knows where it is:
the constant dogs, auroras, and wild gardens?
It is very, very, very close from here
It is there, where losing, no one wins
There is the lake and the peak in parallel
and I dance, I swim over, to the void - for nothing.
-sings Mela Koteluk.
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The catalyst for this article was an virtual meeting with Izabela Duchnowska, the initiator of a community fridge which she put in front of her artistic hostel in Wrocław’s Nadodrze over two years ago.
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In Galway, outside the window graphite clouds and wet asphalt. But in my kitchen, Spain is sitting at the table, because for several mornings I enjoy Pan con tomate.
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One afternoon, Destined / Namienionô – a bilingual poetry book by Małgorzata Wątor fell through the letter slot in the blue door of my apartment in Galway, Ireland. A first poem called to me in the corridor yet.
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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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One autumn, I was in Brussels. Yesterday, the photos reminded me of that. Yellow and copper leaves scattered on the sidewalks in the city centre, beige and grey tenement houses, sceneries with an admixture of orange and burgundy – they are colours of Brussels.
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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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