due to some irony of fate or similar, i happened to be going to Cēsis and Ungurmuiža – and of course, the camera stayed at home. so here are some pics done by my mobile phone…because i could not resist. sorry for the quality, folks. The Doll museum. Not very large, but very impressive.…
they (the linden trees) are gnarled and crabby, and craggy, and at least a hundred years old. we (the people) are crabby and smooth, and the wrong shape, and too quick to die. they observe us when we come within their range of perception. they think slowly, arboreally. they write their observations into their time-lines…
the earth and the air are in opposition: the earth still warm, the air carries a frosty breath. and water escapes from earth, and goes up. to get stuck like white crystals in the hair of the trees, making them grizzly and white. the trees do not mind, the trees have warm feet.
the finest time of the year, when the air is so transparent, and the gaze meets all those colours, and there is the freedom of putting down the burden of summer, and feeling light, like the cranes, and the geese, and all those little nameless birds that move overhead, through the night sky calling out…
there is the apple-tree. full in her burden of apples. there are two spruces, all untamed and aiming at heaven. there are the little birds singing ultrasound in the apple-tree. and there are trams and too many cars, like a neverending river, roaring beneath and above all that. i am sad for the apple-tree, for…
is dark in its green, stretching, stabbing the air handsomely; a sway and a breath, a flutter, bird-feet stuttering in wait for the snow. the bark a little scaly, climbing, higher, higher, till the bellies of clouds are scratched invisibly, playing right into the gates of stars. carefully leaning, the smell of resin, all freshening,…
to stand barefoot next to a tree, and extend a hand and grow into the grass and soil beneath, and reach up, out, towards the sun. or the cloudy sky, or the darkness of night, starlit, moonlit, otherwise. to hear the grass grow. to commune with the birds in the branches, as they seek refuge,…
maybe except the birds, there is hardly anything fascinates me more than trees. their magnanimity. their patience. how they treat the birds. their quiet, but distinctive voices, different each season. trees never bore me. i can walk among them, talking and listening to them almost endlessly. a few days ago i noticed that the faster…
when rain comes with the storm, does it matter how carefully one has made their hair. the wind has the capacity for streaming chaotic activity all over the place, invisibly, suddenly, all momentum commences, only to crash a moment later. and only the trees stand between the heaven and earth, and worry not, of how,…
i wanted to write a long and a sad post about my bank: how i had it for 24 years, and how some years ago the control packet of the shares was bought by another bank, which was secretly owned by some bigwig in russia, and how Byzantine machinations ruined that bank first, and then my bank……
they undress for the winter, then cover their feet, then stretch out towards the sky, and go to sleep. they dream of little scurrying critters in some warm place in a realm far beyond this reality. the tree dreams take the whole winter to fill out, to grow – the little scurrying critters put on…
a little bit of jay-walking, and some trees. and a nice caterpillar.
last night i was listening to the maple trees outside my window how they created a multicolour susurrus in the dark discussing the latest fashion of the stars and the music of birds of flight as the moon peeked cautiously over the margin of the treeline, hidden by the blocks of flats.
the radio warned of storm, and how ppl are not advised to approach trees, and how everyone should watch out and all that. i talked to the great old birch-tree at the bus stop, and he seemed to be unperturbed, either by the radio, or by the rising wind. and the moon was right rising,…
the lindens are on blossom. the fragrance spells ‘summer’ in capslock all over the city. the greater jasmine add their creamy lightness to the tinge of rose in the air. this morning the tomtit brought his brood to my window. i have signed the last of papers with student marks. on the whole this academic…
she is old. she was planted by my grandfather’s father. she has survived a world war, and countless winters and summers, and wild animals, and humans. i played in her branches when i was a kid. the apples were winter apples, their smell – refreshing and beautiful in the dark winter evenings. i still come…
i have always been particular to the trees. because they are so rooted, so wooden. because they have those tree souls that make a nice echo in my soul – or maybe it is my soul’s echo in theirs? because they do not mind just being there. because when i put my hands to their…
