On my birthday, I discover a new strand of gray hair and I’m very happy about it because the color matches my April dress perfectly. Kilkenny wakes up from songs sung in The Field Bar. I love you – I keep humming in my rock & roll mind.
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I come home from work with Marta and Wiktor, the road is illuminated by the sun, and the minutes are alive by Wierd Fishes, the song of RADIOHEAD. Pretty soon I get off at Tesco and run through the narrow streets to my hairdresser Helena. After an hour, I leave with an artistically tousled haircut that I love. I feel blissful and drop into Marks & Spencer, where I get an orange facial wash and sage to sprinkle my afternoon toasts. But I have no idea, that I’ll read poems by John Keats English Romantic poet. Because when I enter my apartment, there is a package from Baśka, waiting for me. The book with poems together with Jane Campion’s film “Bright Star”.
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We expected the sun to come out from behind the clouds. But that the wind will fly away, and not a single drop of rain fall. WOW! 😊
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Oh, my life changes every day in every possible way – The Cranberries sings, and I could notice a young shamrock emerging from the darkness. I see these little boutonnières pinned to hoodies and waterproof jackets. Because today Saint Patrick is cleaning up on the island after winter.
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On Saturday morning, the rain drips into my short Americano, which was made for me by a great barista at Jungle Cafe. The grey beginning of March still keeps me in suspense. Can I finally enjoy my way home?
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There is a gray December Saturday in Irish Galway, but no rain, so people walk around smiling. The Italian cafe is busy, and suddenly I remember that I haven’t been to Dominik Street in a long time. So we go there with my friend Aga and as if by magic we land in France.
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Monday woke up gloomy with some seed of dark mood, and with a gale ate at the breakfast.
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I remembered how is the feeling when you stare at stars. There are thousands of them, in front of a small white cottage with a red door in Connemara. We raise our heads up and contemplate sparkling points on a brisk night at the end of October.
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Blue wings sprout from my shoulders when I start to write. Then on Saturday morning, I fly for a coffee, even though a hailstorm rages on the streets of Galway. In the Portishead hoody and with the sketches of the texts under the cap, I feel like myself and I know that this time nothing will stop me. Because here I am at the dream reportage course led by Polish journalist Marcin Kącki.
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The weekend started with friends. Opening by an Italian coffee with Aga on a happy Woodquay Street. And the evening with Bia and Jack who brought us a plant straight from Brazil.
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