c'etait une fois

ode aux cieux

autumn colours

tales from the golden age

I read the other day an interview with Cristian Mungiu. He was talking about his latest film entitled " Tales from the Golden Age"- a very well selected collection of so called urban legends... It brings back a whole bunch of memories...
going to school/ work on Saturdays, the power being cut off leaving us with, well...telling tales in the dark...Then there was the illegal and always "dangerous" listening on certain radios (Free Europe, VOA, BBC) followed the next day by my reporting everything to a friend of mine on the way to and from school. Then there were the days the grocer's next to the school got such delicacies as oranges, certain chocolate, cherries or even meat or certain salami. Those were the days! We were let or even sent sometimes by teachers to queue and get our little present for the day...of course this was not a daily habit, and in spite of what a normal person might think nowadays about a queue as being sth annoying and tiresome, well in time people would learn to live with queues. They became part of their life, it was the daily and ever-present activity of the long summer afternoons. And what stories and jokes people would tell then. I miss the humour people had those days- it was their only lifeboat- ...

And then there were the cartoons - "Mihaela" and the news on the "telejurnal"- snapshots of the president and his genius wife visiting places, campaigns for saving electricity, and some feeble glimpses into the world abroad. There was ABBA and Albano and Romina Power, and Jeniffer Rush, and there was Casablanca and Rebecca.

And since Cristian mentioned certain urban legends...well I couldn't overlook some of my own, right? The planes, sometimes crossing our bluest sky, were the Americans coming to rescue us... people were always watched and there was someone there that knew last night you ate pork and listened to forbidden radios... A real Big Brother watching us with his scrutinizing eyes.

I guess those days are long gone, yet leaving behind deep traces into people's lives, into their mentalities. We still have our urban legends, I'd dare say less charmant and less rich in meaning than those before... And with risk of being contradicted (that is in case someone would lay their eyes upon these lines), I would go as far and say that before the inner life was deeper- people used to live more profoundly and more complex, and maybe more silently. Now it's all becoming too surface like, glowy but shallow...it's like living in a plastic world, with almost no direction, purpose, with no emotional urge... we just exist....... Please contradict me :)

second tome- summer wine

summer wine

Time never seems to fly faster than when we want it to stop...it is like it obstinates to do its will, against ours. And the faster it flies, the drunker we get- with feelings, sensations, all senses being entwined in our mind's realm of souvenirs... And yet, or exactly because of this drunkness at the end of summer the sweet-sour taste of wine is all there is, plus probably a scrapbook of visual captures of past moments....

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...