It is a cold winter all over the place, frozen trees standing, golden leaves barely moving,
Shadows of people aloof from their lives,
Smoky words uttered in simplicity spread into the stiff air.
It isn't a time of change for those born when we did.
Shadows of people aloof from their lives,
Smoky words uttered in simplicity spread into the stiff air.
It isn't a time of change for those born when we did.
And while you whisper let me have it my way, as if you know I am bound to words,
- Hope, you say, in the time of winter -
I see only your hands crossing the borders between seasons.
wonderful, especially the second picture, i love it very much :-)
ReplyDeletethe poem too, especially this line: Smoky words uttered in simplicity spread into the stiff air.
and the last one.
(it seems we are always at some crossing of borders, you and me :-)
cred ca acestia sunt mestecenii pe care i-am zarit odataincolaciti de pulpe mangaiate de albastru:)numai ca ai depasit cu mult granitele imaginarului meu,nu m-as fi gandit niciodata la asezonarea cerului cu acele siaje care par ca s-a lasat,moale,zapada peste azur.
ReplyDeletesi da,iarna ne ia ,cumva,cuvintele,sau le esentializeaza,albul ne aminteste mereu ca urmele sunt perisabile,ca gesturile ne pot deveni golase.iarna nu iti vine sa faci risipa
dragele mele,
ReplyDeleteatat de primitoare cu lumea mea sunteti voi... si cat de fericita sunt ca v-a placut, voua, cu care traversez toate anotimpurile, fara remuscari.
where is no end there is no beginning. there is no beginning there is no hope. <=> where is hope there is an end. finally. fortunately.
ReplyDeleteDear Cris,
ReplyDeleteWeather can be the reflection of our mood. Never trust it: sun in mid-December and blizzards in mid-April (the cruellest month, isn't it?). Trust yourself and you will have year-round spring.
I, too, love crossing borders... hopscotching...inventing seasons...