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.
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.
This year, the White Locomotive / “Biała Lokomotywa”/ – cozy literary festival from Łazieniec, in Poland organized by Daria Lisiecka, sat at my table in Glaway, in Ireland. Locomotive whistled LIVE through the monitor window. For me it was an awesome experience, truly intense, but different if I could sit under a tree in the front of Edward Stachura’s house. However, digitally the White Locomotive had the same power to take me to the meadow.
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.
Belive that a further shore is reachable from here
When I landed in Bucharest was very late, so I was worring a bit how I will get to the city centre, where I had one night accommodation. But to my surprise the ticket office was still open (at 22pm) and I found a bus which took me to the centre of mysterious city. While the ride I was still thinking how I will find the apartment in the middle of the night. Meanwhile I met an angel – local girl, who has led me to my place. She also hugged me and gave warmly wishes, so much needed, when you are alone in foreign country.