When the light goes out over my story, I hesitate to get up and make a coffee in an orange mug but I do it and go into the darkness. The wipers can not keep up with the ocean that pours in front of my eyes. I feel dizzy in my head for thirty minutes. And finally, I see that sheep also like to hide under a rock.
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For women who doubt the worth and power of their story
detication from the book
Today, I can present you with prose that is like a multidimensional journey. “The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart “ – is Holly Ringland’s debut novel. 415 pages that I read almost in one breath, over exactly two afternoons.
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My life is small things.
I placed my favourite spices in the little glass jars with special inscriptions: LOVE (MIŁOŚĆ in Polish) – for the orange saffron, SUN (SŁOŃCE in Polish) – for turmeric, MAGIC (CZAR in Polish) – for black sesame seeds, FOREST (LAS in Polish) – for flax seeds.
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The phenomenon of the Sibiu International Theatre Festival in Romania goes on regardless of time. It is a sense of community of people from various countries, the openness to others, and the love of artistic activities. Last year, I was a volunteer at this festival. Now, I got a chance to participate in the conference Sibiu Performing Arts Market again.
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When I was a small I was asking “What is life, mom?”.
You see life is me and you, this bird, that tree and flower – she was answering to me.
from the song of Dżem “Naive questions”.
Summer came. Connemara has dressed in juicy green and now looks like a land of hobbits. Fragrant, soft, blissful.
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On an evening in June 2020, Sharon Watts’s illustrations take me to an America the 60s & 70s which emanated with the big changes. Dreams pour out from the stories of a reluctant hippie chick. Did Sharon meet Bob Dylan at Cafe Reggio on MacDougal Street in New York? – I wonder.
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The morning has the taste of dates
nostalgic and quite rough.
The rain is dripping into the coffee
– a friend who listens
my morning poem
I have one regular ritual in the morning for two or even three years. I sit down on a plush sofa with a cup of coffee, with nice porridge (today full of dates), and sometimes with fresh orange juice and a cat on my knees (depending on cat).
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I have published an opening blog post in June 2019, just before my flight to Romania, where the history of the Blue Tram has started.
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At 6 a.m. I was awoke by the roar of the wind. And although the curtains danced to the rhythm of this ferment, I went out as usual to run along the river.
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“Glimpses” / “Mgnienia” / by Daria Danuta Lisiecka take me to various places.
First I get off at the railway station in A. – Aleksandrów Kujawski, darling stop of a provincial town in Poland, my friend and poet waits for me there.
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