Ida

Huge globe hanging from the ceiling of a church nave, below the cross.

Attended an impressive installation at the local basilica. My mother only suffered from the ancient cold, as she called it & I felt it, too. The ancient cold of winter, of the world, of years, decades & centuries. As if it had once been sentenced to a thousand years in prison within those old walls.

Vielen Dank, Britta! Die Sonne war ein roter Feuerball, den mein altes Smartphone nicht einfangen konnte, aber dein Kompliment lässt mich meine Unzufriedenheit darüber vergessen. 🙏

Sunset seen through a train window.

Herzlichen Dank, Traumfängerin! 🧡

At the interchange station a crow is balancing along the tracks. Clumsy and confident all at once.

I'm on a train eating a croissant. 🥐 Life is good.

🤹

Park path with low sun peeking through the still naked trees.

Park path with low sun peeking through the still naked trees.

Sundial

silhouettes filled with
between-the-lines

Season by Christina Bothwell (American, b.1960 ) Medium: cast glass and ceramic.

Alice Oswald, Falling Awake

An den Schmelzbächen, am Meer.

Slender puddle in the park with reflection of trees, blue sky and clouds.

The river as stupendous puddle with reflection of an old castle and trees.

Slender and stupendous puddles...

Ganz lieben Dank, Britta❣️

At the cardiologist today. With the cat. Same medical conditions as my children's long deceased father. Fate has a tendency to insist.

Das erinnerte mich an ein altes Gedicht, das ich geschrieben habe.

Church of the Holy Cross

Indigenous to this ancient place,
the barn swallow rests in her
hallowed nest of wattle,
lifts her black face to
the chants of my making,
honours time and Him to
fly to a love
that dovetails her.

This is beautiful, Angela... uplifting. Thank you for sharing..🙏🕊️

A window in the breath lines #minutiae

Another one today, in front of the Scandinavian fashion brand store, stretching out his arm while eating a pretzel and proffering a pigeon that landed on his palm a piece of it. People surrounded him as if he was an acrobat performing an incredible feat. Which it possibly even was. 🕊️

Das Bild Nighthawks von Edward Hopper, schön weiß gerahmt, an eine alte Hauswand gelehnt

Zu verschenken

Nothing but winter, inside and outside. Blinded by snowy roofs and sparkly icicles dripping into the gutter as if they had a bet running with my nose. And above it all, a barn swallow-blue sky like a promise. Soon.

Often I remind you that I too have walked In the land of dreams and have become real. With this I say that reality is signified Only by how far your soul is allowed To fly into space. Listen to what it brings back, To what it is trying to tell you.

Noelle Kocot

And some certain significance lurks in all things, else all things are little worth, and the round world itself but an empty cipher

Count yourself to sleep, not by imagining sheep, but the numbers themselves. If you are taking enough time, by the time you reach 500 at the latest, you will realize that you have built a particular relationship with each individual of them.

A pair of ducks in a stream well filled with rainwater. The male bravely battles against the current [I feel you drake] while the female rummages through the flotsam on the water's edge.

Valentine

“But will I be able to carry into another world what I forgot to dream?”

— Fernando Pessoa, writing as Álvaro de Campos

(trans. Costa and Ferrari)

The Dream Vessel Expecting Your Presence This Night

M. K. Čiurlionis, 1907

The spray can celebrates its 100th birthday today, and spray mist is a lovely word, by the way.🎈

From the category 'nice sounds': the clattering of the mixing balls in cans of spray paint.