Blue Monday was introduced to the calendar as the most depressing day of the year by UK psychologist from Cardiff. January is probably very gloomy and wet in the Welsh capital located on the Bristol Channel, major inlet extent to the North Atlantic. I can imagine it because we have in Ireland the same, even worst.
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Recently, I have been translating the poems of my favorite poet Michelle O’Sullivan into Polish again. The first piece from the book The blue end of stars is preceded by an interesting quote from the Czech poet and scientist Miroslav Holub. In surprise I find the answer that I have been looking for so many years.
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A few days before Christmas Eve, the rain drips into the morning coffee. Graphite sky instead of the ceiling in the kitchen.
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There is a cobalt sky behind the window, and a well-known house with a red door. Colourful lights hung on a curtain rod shine with peace. Its glow is reflected in the chocolate cup saucer.
I take out a small table and blue chopping board on it. Next to it, on the sofa, there are old magazines, extraordinary papers, scraps, and a pencil case with liners, scissors, and glue.
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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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On a blue bike, fitted into a moss saddle, we will find our way
There is already autumn in Galway. September painted the leaves red, coppery and yellow at the University Park.
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You should not go to the mountains alone. Because you never know what might suddenly happen. A woman who stayed with us last year also said that she would be fine on the hike to Carrantuohill, but she got stuck in a crack and had to be rescued by helicopter.
-so said John, when I announced that tomorrow I am going to the mountains alone. And he was right, but my desire to climb was stronger than fear that the wind would blow me off the ridge of the higgest mountain of Ireland.
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I am not looking for, I use what I have around me. When I see something then my ideas born, but also everything starts from myself.
Ciara Beckers is a young artist and in my opinion artist – pioneer because she explores the thing which nobody seems to notice. Her art is very simple but also a bit of surrealistic. I met Ciara last year at the Tiny Traders Village market. While we met again for an interview, I thought that she has something similar to Salvador Dali who was fascinated with revealing deepest ego.
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For women who doubt the worth and power of their story
– detication from the book
Today for the first time on my blog I present a prose and for the second time I mention Australia. “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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