sunday laze and little booze

just moon

spring travels

From the tavel diaries of a..... bee,....? The spring has just settled in for a couple of weeks only...yet the urge to unveil new realms set me off. So one day i took me and myself plus my "friendly" rucksack - that friendly and close and "dear" to me that it actually cost me quite a lot, plus it kinda stuck on my back, heavy and never easy to forget about. No worries I might leave it behind without actually starting to fly :)

There followed entire days I spent crossing some mountains- the fresh air as well as the amazing sights were breathtaking...But no matter how much one might indulge in the pleasures of discovering this country, of uncovering its richness and marvels, fatigue settles in and after a while, as any traveller would do I tried to find some shelter for the night to come. This brought me to this place full of awkwardly different but beautiful houses... Could this be a village? If so, why were all houses so different? What could that tell me about this people? But as fatigue was becoming my master I left these questions unanswered for the night.

At the horizon, the mountains I have just crossed were looking melancholy towards me...their tears were falling down their face- heavy and white...

but i left their sight behind, turning my eyes towards what captured me from the start-a very beautifully carved gate and a beautiful wooden building. I don't really know what it serves for, but it has a tall tower heading for the warm and perfumed sky of the evening....

My tired feet guided me to the house of the sky- its deep blue taking my thoughts back to Bretagne.... Outside the fragrance of jasmin both took my breath away and made me drunk with beauty- it was like a heavily flavoured wine that gets to your head entangling your thoughts in the interwined, mysterious paths of the mind...

The feeling was amazing, almost extatic... both outside, thanks to the perfume of the jasmin, and inside where a warm and hospitable and welcoming bed was waiting....at its sight my eyes felt unbearably heavy ....I laid down and .....

temoignes...

Les gens souvent passent sans me regarder, sans nous regarder - moi et mon enfant... et ils se croient tous seul dans ce petit univers qui est ma rue...ils ne savent jamais que mon regard est pour eux.

Je les suivis de mes yeux, dechiffrent leurs sentiments- la malice, la fureur, la joie, la surprise...sur leur visage, dans les yeux ou bien, dans leur voix...

Des que je suis venue ici j'ai vu bien de choses- certaines sont incroyables, d'autres tristes, et d'autres (bien nombreuses), pleines de l'esperance de la jeunesse.

Le fait c'est qu'ils se croient seuls- ils parlent, rirent, des fois, ils pleurent meme, et je suis leur temoigne. Un temoigne muet et invisible, comme l'air, comme la brise qu'a peine apercoit...

Every little cobble....

A friend of mine said once that every person has a story to unveil.... True! I'd go as far as to say that everything around has a story. Stories are not just a human characteristic- every little stone, or every leaf has its story. There is a story in the wind, in the silence surrounding us at night, there is a story in the roots and branches of trees, in the fragrance of flowers in spring... We fail to see their story many times. Whispered, sung, or just uttered- they rarely get to us, not because they'd lack essence or import, but rather that we lack the knowledge and patience to listen to their story, to watch their story....

Here is a glimpse into a possible story- imagination and peace will fill the rest of the puzzle...

Easter

Just wishing a very Happy Easter and Joyeuses Paques for those who celebrate Easter this Sunday! May you enjoy the beloved's presence and love!

" sprinter"

spring + winter =.....?..... "sprinter????" What started as a very shy spring some days ago became a very brave and bold spring. I guess these are some of the advantages of the global warming..... or maybe it's just me trying to see the full side of the glass.

missing the winter d'autre fois....

That night the fresh, sweet and mild air was like the one they used to breathe while in one of the small villages scattered among hills and valleys. It was not the air of oncoming spring, but of winter, quite surprisingly a pre-Christmas winter. It reminded her a lot of long time ago, when she used to spend her winterholidays somwhere near the mountains with her grandparents. It smelled like burnt wood, smoke playfully coming out of chimneys. It smelled of people chattering around the fire, of women preparing traditional meals, of men talking over a glass of moonstone of the "serious" matters of the village, of kids anxiously expecting the next day sledging.
It was night, winter, after a several days snow....now it had stoppedand a freezing cold was conquering the village and its surroundings. Everything was so white and so light; in spite of the dark night outside all things seemed to have an inner light of their own. And everything was so frozen that almost all noises- footsteps on snow, gates being opened and then closed- almost sounded like broken ice.
Here and there some lonely dog was barking out loud its miserable life. Others always answered, closer and more distant, all joined by a clear cold echo.
That night there were lights in the sky- a huge bright moon and her billion little sisters must be having a ball...
Everything is so clear and fresh in her memory as if it all happened this last Christmas....and yet entire years passed by like eagles in their flight. The same SHE was trying to find the same sky, to grasp the same air, feeling like then. Only the faint breeze of air "d'autant" was present... The light of the earth were more powerful than those in the sky, the fragrances around her were stronger than those of the nature in winter. She was surrounded by parfumes and exquisite flavours; the cigarette smoke and the expesive drinks were invading her, sometimes the air becoming so heavy and overwheming that it almost choked her.
The infatuated laughters, the innuendo, the mean gossip floating within the room were almost hurting...she was wondering: "why hasn't anyone invented the time machine yet?"....
And she was at Aspen....

"Parliament controversy"- winter: good or bad???? NC

who said the winter was heading towards the region of the rising sun?....last week or so the sight of fragile, yet so powerful through their fragrance, made my thoughts wander towards warmth and sun and life. Spring seemed so close I my fingertips could almost touch it...it was practically there in front of me...so powerful and so life giving, and so generous in itself. it was like nature came to life- little shy flowers tempted by the warm light of the sun rays, the sky,the birds, people's faces, but most of all the air, so rich and full of je ne sais quoi. Something you can only feel but you're quite incapable of verbalizing...that's spring...feeling happy without an apparent reason, feeling powerful and yet not having an ounce more in your possession that the other day, not being alone all the while wandering the streets by yourself... That's spring....the way I felt it some time ago....

but then in a matter of hearbeats i looked outside...my eyes and face were "hit" by white. Amazing and ironic how the same white of snow can be so longed for before a certain day, and how menacing and somehow disturbing in our little petty and shallow daily habits...how come the snow so pure and so often associated with childhood memories and bells of sledges seems now , on the threshold of spring, to have become just...well, just white and cold, and blizzard...whining drivers, horns, jam, nerveous swearing and breakdown....yet we do fail to see that it's the same white, the same pure snow...we fail to see that maybe things in nature, all around us don't necessarily evole around us...we human beings are not the ones to have set the things going...there is a bigger picture here than just us getting comfortably to our jobs in the morning, or than us filling our bags with more and more food for the body and less with food for thought...so we end up complaining:
- look there is so much water in the streets because of all this melted snow!- oh damn! it's cold again, dear. Have you heard? they said it'd be - 5. Oh God. I so hate the cold!....- comon, can't you see I'm in a hurry?!?!? cross the damn street for once and for all, old man! Why don't you stay home if you can't even drag your two boney feet...? We are trying to get to work here....
and so on...all day long....every day appears to come with its own list of human complaints- weather, injustice, poverty.... and again , i really have to use this word again, as i said again ironically you , i most, of us fall in this trap of the whining immortal souls over mortal and insgnificant trifles...
trying to detach myself from it a bit here's a glimpse of the beauty of what we so much blame - winter...

Late Valentine...

moonstruck

The magic of spring nights....fragrance....unknown to come....

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: