The morning coffee smells like orange trees in the Doña Elvira square in Seville, although it is mystical gray outside the window. I am sitting on the sofa as on a small tiled bench. Instead of the sounds of water in the fountain, I hear the washing machine. Notebook based on corduroy legs. I can’t turn off poetry because it is my life.
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Today is Paddy’s Day – the biggest Irish holiday which the whole world like to celebrate. If you have ever been to Ireland, even in the worst weather, you will leave thrilled. Well, what exactly happened? What is the phenomenon of this small island where the wind ruffles your hair every day, and the rain drips on your face? I asked different people. Irish who live here or abroad, and people of other nationalities to whom Ireland became home.
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I was not prepared to seek God. After all, I did not have contact with him at long tome. That is why I was completely surprised by the proposal to start searching God at home among the pots and the pans. However, I agreed.
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I have a lot of fears. Some of them are justified, others are completely irrational. My mind promotes all of them. Although spring stretches out its hands to me through the open window, a wall grows in my head.
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I am reading a book that is like ordinary life, very simple and charming at the same time. Slow rhythm of stories and mindfulness calm us.
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Do you know that Archaeology brought me to Ireland? Ten years ago, I was working on the excavations, when the rain dripped down on my back. Recently The dig I have seen on Netflix, refreshed my thrill of explorer and push me to discover more about Basil Brown with other characters in this curious archaeological story. I dived into British sources and found interesting information on the British Museum blog. Also I discovered a great blog by the local historian from Ipswich Caleb Howgego. Step by step I had verified the facts and myths, but the true answer came at the end in the excavation report, published in 1940 in the Journal of Antiquity.
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Finally is snowing in Galway. I stick my head out the window, the white flakes dance and fall on my face. It very rarely have fluffy winter in Ireland. Today’s snow is also fleeting, I know it is one day, but I am happy as a child of it.
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This post is dedicated to Agnieszka
Yes, my life is made of little things. I like to discover them from graphite time when clouds and crows look to my window. So, sometimes I have the day marked of crispy bread, or, like last Friday, marked by notebooks. Then I feel simple happiness. Although it is fragile, I do not want to bind it, because I know that somewhere, once again it will charm me with its small motion.
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May the darkness within you recognize
there’s hope for clarity paths ahead
from the Imbolc blessing
Heavy clouds hug the beginning of February, the rain does want to stop. And the lockdown in Ireland will be until March. The crisis is perching on the windowsill along with green mold. Therefore, instead of looking out the window, I stare at Instagram, and I recognize a familiar symbol in the photo – a square cross made of rushes.
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Recently, I have been wearing corduroy trousers again. This time in Tobacco colour. I find in them lines from poems, cigarette smoke from student days, and the fragrance of Cracow. Because dust from many places settles on the corduroy, and between the stripes is my character – a pinch of nostalgia, rebellion, and the amber sun.
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