In our roof garden, large orange and red toadstools have grown, sprinkled with irregular balls that look like rolled-up papers. When November draws in the clouds and starts raining all day long, our toadstools are like living pieces of art, their colours shining through the darkest thoughts.
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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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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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The end of summer lights up inside me like lamps on the ceiling in The Secret Garden, where we write poems with Martyna sipping strawberry-lavender tea. Galway plays the double bass, winks, and introduces itself to us again. Because when guests come to visit me, I also become a tourist for a moment.
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The last morning in Turkey is lavender and pink. We are awakened by the sound of the Sea of Marmara. The first boats set off to Istanbul, the neighbors meet for a morning swim. We leave the room to the sandy shore. Ulvi our host from Efe Cafe has already prepared toasts and teas in bell glasses. He lights a cigarette and tells us about his everyday life in Silivri. In a moment we say goodbye in Turkish: Güle güle and leave the gate carefully so as not to run into a cat that has a bath under an olive tree at the corner of the street.
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Continue readingAnd all the roads that lead you there were winding
And all the lights that light the way are blinding
There are many things that
I would like to say to you but I don’t know how
(…)
Oasis “Wonderwall”
May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind be always at your back.
Irish proverb
Summer in Ireland has 14 degrees, and rain is usually on hand. However, there is some unusual feature of this country that always makes me feel that I am on the way. Because when I discover new beaches, various types of flowers and grasses, and visit fishing villages like Kinvara, I experience the magic and the weather does not determine it.
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I sit down on a stone by the R336 in the Maan Valley. The asphalt is quiet. Along the side of the road, one sheep walks. Thin black legs wobble slightly on the grey rocks. I take a sip of coffee from an orange mug. Brown giants – Maamturk watch me gently. A moment ago I have doubted the sense of being. Now, I contemplate a magical or ordinary fragment that is just happening.
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There’s no such thing as bad weather, only unsuitable clothing
Alfred Wainwright
The force of the wind on the Beaufort scale is nine, a little tree knocked over on some balcony in Galway. I prepare sandwiches and pour coffee into tourist mugs. We put on hoodies, jackets, hats, I take gloves, even it is May. Dauntless sneakers are ready for the adventure. The songs by Polish band T.Love sound in the car, so memories mix with the N59 road, and beige hills with newborn sheep hug their mums on the fields. Long before Clifden, we turn right to the Connemara National Park. The direction is three beautiful beaches.
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Don’t think, man, what your life might be, otherwise, it wouldn’t be yours.
Czesław Miłosz, The Issa Valley.
Where are you from? – I have heard this question a thousand times in my life. And I always wondered what should I respond: where I come from or where I am currently live? When I lived in Poland, the answer seemed simple, because I was born in this country. Although I landed in the world in Warsaw and after years I moved to Wrocław.
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