Yesterday a leaf decided to come to life, a leaf so tiny and fragile you could say it is nothing more than your imagination's spring. And still, even though so incredibly close to being invisible at first, that leaf grasped to life with each of its cells.

Its bright light green made people turn their heads and some would even stop and watched it for a while- it was life itself they saw in front of their eyes, life stronger than anyone could imagine in that dark and chilly afternoon of February.

Spring had come quite early that year. Quite hesitant at first, the sun got warmer and warmer till snow melted into huge streams of water coming down the mountains through the dark, sinuous valleys; strong, fast waters that invaded everything- houses, gardens, yards, people's mind and soul.

But then those days went by and became just some faded memories. Now it seems as if God in his anger against the mankind's sins had forbidden the sun. For days on the sky was overcast and everything seemed as still as if nature itself had turned itself into a painting. The air became hard to breathe, it became almost solid and the everlasting clouds made it all be as those polar days that everybody heard about- those days that always seem to be on the verge of irreality, of fantasia.

Jonathan was one of the people watching the leaf- at that moment that leaf seemed to be their last hope. Yes, it was indeed the first to appear, but somehow in a strange way they felt it was also the last, the only one. And so now, they all stood there like true religious worshippers, gathering around, more and more each day, each moment of their pathetic lives.

There were some that even started to write prayers and they kept on whispering them like zombies, on and on. And life went on like this for days, for weeks it seemed. People started even doing things that not long ago seemed meaningless to them. Some of the oldest and considerably wiser men decided that sacrifice was needed. Don't think I'm talking about rivers of blood shed by dozens of virgins... No, they had in mind a more subtle kind of sacrifice, and that sacrifice would have to be collective. They simply decided they would all have to leave their houses, their daily chores and come to the leaf. They would stay there until there was a sign of forgiveness coming from beyond the dark blnaket of clouds.

They summoned everybody from the village to the tree. They all came, some already hope painted on their face, eyes glistening at the perspective of a better life in the near future. Some others quite reluctantly: they had been working all their life to build a house, a shelter for later days.

They all went there around the fertile tree, but Jonathan. The night before this sudden, painful and yet full of hope decision, he had a dream. He dreamt about them all going around the tree, staying there quite stupidly while their houses were being plundered by fearful, fierceful knights coming all the way from the northern realm. He had dreamt about houses burning to the ground, about people being killed, people dear to him, from the village.
One of them was more dear to him than is the sea water to the fish, or the rich dark land to teh delicate lilies in the valley that used to grow all around their village. That one sweet, gentle girl he always had in mind was Tipareth. And that dear beloved girl was killed in the dream.

The next morning while all the others were tranquilly heading towards the leaf, he looked for Tipareth, trying to talk her into running away with him. Yet, she was nowhere to be found. When asked about her, people would just shrug and turn their back on him.

Desperately he searched for her for hours on and on until exhausted, he set on a stone near a once beautiful and rich garden. Now deserted and empty, the garden looked like the surface of Mars, as it was described in the ancient sagas of the village- bare, dry, lifeless and dark. he knew somehow, he could even feel it through every cell of his body, that they were wrong. Their sagas, which were the pride of the village, hid more than showed at first sight. It wasn't just about glorious event from their history, or about braveheart knights that fought courageously for the people's well- being. It was more about all the blood taht had been shed, innocent blood , most of the time. What had been considered heroic and act of bravery was in fact cowerdice and crime. And now they were all to pay for that....
Tiny bits of their history, of his life itself were pumping before his eyes, snapshots of a better, but superficial life.

He then realised- they had all cared for their properties, doing eveything possible to make things work properly. For them the richness of their land was enough and they did all to keep that. Fortunes were spent each year to have the best garden of all, to build the largest mansion of all. They invested in their ultimate goals everything they had- money, time, efforts- in their greediness they even invested what they no longer had. They kept using the word very often, yet without realising the word had become shallow. "Love" was no longer there to enrich tha land of their heart. It was just a meaningless word, an empty glass once filled with the most precious of wines. A word on eveybody's lips, but in no one's soul. Blinded by ambitions, searching for beauty at all costs they had been trampling on it as wild horses would on the green pasture of spring.

Now it was all clear, what people needed was love, what that leaf needed to survive was love- their love.

Revived by the thoughts Jonathan made for the tree to share them with the others.....

Useless to say that Peles was not by far enough for this girl, whose face you'll actually be able to see later.... Full of beautiful memories she continued her epic journey to Sighisoara- a medieval little town, quite cozy and picturesque....
The houses are fully coloured and seem to invite you in for a glass of dark red wine...You were probably wondering why dar red wine...Well, this is apparently somehow related to Dracula, whom you have all heard of. I didn't go to schools or study any history so I don't know much but what I have seen in Hollywood movies- vampires, cruelty, Vlad the Impaler, blood, a myth, a legend, true facts....noone really knows for sure....
But the place is magnificent, though too much commercialized, losing somehow a part of what makes it unique in Europe... But try to imagine how it must have looked some 2 centuries ago, full of dramatism, grace, bravery, art and romanticism. Everything must have so gothically superb!














The guradian of the town bridge:




















Time now just like it was some two hundred years ago:















Dracula's father is said to have lived here.... it might be actually truth...but what I do know is that the place has a strange air about it....















someone from the past, maybe....?















Walking in the cemetry may sometimes seem refreshing, especially on a hot August day- quite a bless- shadow, freshness and silence, a lot of green and flowers. One wouldn't say that is a cemetry....















Just someone coming out for a walk, since we were in a cemetry, that's quite normal, I presume :)



















Feeling like we could use a lil' music?















It just makes me dream, dream of a time I was a lil' rock some centuries ago...oh, good old memories!















The road of the chevalry....














Finally a lil tranquility and freshness at the end of this beautiful day- the sky's purity promises a new beautiful day coming and puts its mark on the whole splendour of the place:

They say stones have no soul, hence the saying "your heart is like stone." But if they haven't been endowed with a soul, they have , at least, been gifted with the will to listen and pass over the stories of the humble or more noble people, as they are witnessed by the ever alike stones and cobbles covering most of life's roads. Shortly, they have been given the gift of storytelling.
Thus begins my story... As a matter of fact one day I woke up hanging at some girl's neck. And thus begins my journey. She's quite a traveler this one. Through time we have traveled together thousands of miles away from home, to places of unimaginable beauty, places which just like virgin maidens, have unveiled their beauties and mystery shyly at first. As we became more familiar and intimate with the place, it started revealing more and more of its beauties and significations, with such an amazing strength and depth!

My first stop was at a place called Peles- a gorgeous castle, the pride of Romania. Set in the midst of mountains, it unveils its beauty as one approaches Sinaia. It took us almost 6 hours to get there but it was all worthy - the effort, the money and the time spent on the road. Being quite a generous stone, here are some pictures to show you all the splendours we have seen there:

players?

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players....
(William Shakespeare- As You Like It)

we all think of ourselves the best...every time we move, every tiny thing we do, we take a look around to see how people around us are impressed, we long to see admiration and approval in their eyes. And when this fails to happen, we just delude ourselves, indulging in the illusion that it is the other's fault.
but in the end we are all fools, we fail to realise we are just players playing some predefined roles...Who or what predefines them? society most of all, the fear you cannot find yourself in the well traced strata of society, the fear you might be different and then rejected. so you comply yourself to all sorts of rules more or less self imposed by which you eliminate the danger of getting lost. And you are proud - you are like others or maybe even better. And then another deadly fear comes- that of being vulnerable, of showing you also can have feelings, the fear of letting the guard down. And then, though you were already wearing a mask, you put on another one, a mask so masterly forged that it hides your self from you. In the end not even you succeed in knowing you, you end up being the role you have been playing for so long.
We fail to be true to ourselves and those around and all the strifes and pains and struggles, and smiles and lines are nothing but a reproduction, a presetting....
Shakespeare was a genius, there's no doubt about it....

The end- by The Doors....

what triggers change in people, what can make someone tread on someone else's feelings so easily and quickly as though treading on the fallen withered leaves of trees in parks?.... what can transform a beautiful friendship based on mutual trust and understanding into a crawling relationship, into something tedious, tiring, based on lies, disrespect, mistrust? You end up wondering if this all hasn't been your fault. You always tend to think it's you that did something wrong, that did something to hurt the other one. and then you're trying to fix things but nothing seems to work, nothing succeeds in bringing back what it used to be. Even worse it's like a drowning person fighting to submerge at the surface, almost knowing it's the end but still struggling to catch something, to continue living. in the end the more one struggle the longer the pain is, the outcome is the same- the end of friendship, death, you name it. The only difference there is , is the long almost endless pain you go through quite willingly or cowardly, just hoping that maybe one moment things will be again the same they used to...and your days go by devided into these 2 states and moods: on one hand you still hope for the better and try handling things like one would do with a china, always careful about the other's feelings and words and life, and then on the other hand seeing the dead end of the road you are walking on, seeing that the more you try the deeper you get into your despair, and the farther you get yourself driven away from that friend....
And by the end of the day it's still the same questions that haunt you: what went wrong? where is the sincerity that was supposed to found our friendship? and isn't this friendship worth while saving? but the questions remain empty, echoes in your tormented head, no more than that...

is it?

recently it has come to my mind as an epiphany that knowing someone is an utopia. in reality the most we can get a glimpse of someone is 2%, no more than that. and the greatest mistake of all is not only that you dare to think you know a person, but to project in that person qualities and features that are not there. You project in that person filling him or her with wishful thoughts only. You see that person as everything you wish them to be- honest, trustful, supportive, caring. And you start building a totally different personality, to build an ideal. after a while you see how blind you have been, how wrong... People are almost never the way we want them to be. You help them, support them, lend an ear to their words and troubles, but then there's no feedback, no nice words, just sharp and contradictory lines. You start wondering what you did wrong, because you feel you have done something wrong. But your questions fly just like blinded bats in the light of the day, leaving you bare, hollow and with a huge sense of meaningless. But the mistake was yours for entrusting some feelings, thoughts and qualities in people, for fighting to see the best in them always, but failing so easily and unacceptable to take them for what they are...

They say truth hurts, indeed... seeing how different things are from what you hoped for, you ache, you can't stop but feel down and blaming yourself and the person...there remains too much pain and shattered dreams and expectations behind.
I'm starting to wonder when this trust i have in people is going to die...how much wrong can i still be in misjudging them... how much do i still have to suffer for being let down by people....

Is it so bad to want to know if your friends are...

Is it so bad to want to know if your friends are ok?
I've come to realise, quite the hard way I could say, that waiting for your friends to share with you their dreams, and hopes, and feelings, their love or their sorrow, is something quite sacrilegious. You can't possibly expect anyone to give that away to you. You are just a no one, expecting to be minded, a door never meant to be opened. It's sad to see how people think they are just so much stronger if they keep that all to themselves. It then, becomes their treasure only, and rarele are there people worth enough to get a glimpse of it.

Anyway ....

People are often unreasonable, illogical and self-centered;

Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives;

Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies;

Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you;

Be honest and frank anyway.

What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight;

Build anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous;

Be happy anyway.

The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;

Do good anyway.

Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough;

Give the world the best you've got anyway.

winter

What a rare joy and beauty it has become to see snow lately! You come to see it on the screen behind the dusty and cold glass of the TV set, you see it and you wonder what was like in the old days, the days your folks told you about. You see it and you still think it’s a setting, something technology can fake so perfectly… you watch it for a while, might even like it but then you get bored and realize your daily things and plans couldn’t or rather wouldn’t go hand in hand with what winter once meant: snow. You might like it in pictures, wallpapers, hell, you might even like it in the mountains, you like to know it’s there for you to go in the weekends to some log cottage with your friends, to ski a little, sledge, have a snow fight just to turn to the warmth and the wine waiting inside. Everything is fine, and yet the bottom line is that by the end of the day / weekend you already forget about the real beauty snow offers… Even worse than that, many of us have been taught to hate winter, snow is accidents, disease, death, snow is me not getting in time to the party, not being able to take my walk… And quite ironically, we indulge in this hyper-need we have for commodity and coziness, that snow has become a top enemy for us, we started to like it on the screen only, as a fairytale setting for Christmas stories, a time when all miracles happen. And yet we fail to see a miracle it’s happening right now outside; it’s snowing. Quite sadly, snow has entered this category of miracles, now… And blind as we are we would rather go for the “beauty” we see on TV, or in magazines, rejecting what God has offered and wished for us in winter: white, purity, silence and peace, and the simple joys people used to share in these moments.

Have you ever tasted winter?
It’s like that freshly lain down snow, the taste of nature, of something so familiar and yet so unique and unbelievably unpaired. Once you tasted it, it remains there for good in your mind, and resurrects every winter, every time it’s snowing, like it’s doing tonight.
The snowflakes have been performing an unseen ballet, as if flowing on Tchaikovsky’s music – they are carried away by their own will to cover everything, mostly the ugly houses and streets- the human creation.
Belles ringing as in a ritual to call for the snow: there shall be snow! And there it was- white, dancing, refreshing and full of life, as one would think was imagined by T. in his dance of the sugar plum fairy. Such a joy to try to grasp it with all senses, to try to glad your eyes with it, to taste it, to listen to it silently covering everything! It’s actually the very few instances when you can listen to the sound of silence. As absurd as this may sound, when snow lays itself on the ground, it does it with so much dignity and so silently and yet be music for the sensitive and open heart.
It’s definitely magic, a magic worth falling in love with!