the blackbird sings night competing*

a long whistle, a whistle, a green turn to the right, peach upon blue, tweet, chatter, breathe in the freshly cut mint, a hint of basil, orange setting, apple trees ripe for starlings, stars not emerging from dusk, make another jump into the wild-rose fragrance, dance in the twilight, watch the moon go semi-round, eyes…

unwriting

this christmas was/is a white and unseasoned season. maybe even bitter, although it does not feel so. it does not feel like anything, really. the snow is crisp. the cold is timely. the moon pours blue light over the silent(ish) city. the room temperature is adequate. when i am not working, doing something practical, i…

indigo

the feather clouds all spread out like fingers to keep the indigo sky from falling to pieces we enter the little stars of scilla, ink on green all my steps, all your steps coloured a time by the rudimentary snowdrifts, liverleaf anxious to look, to be seen all in blues of breaking they come in…

it was long ago about now, and is one more story

the roads had all gone muddy, and the trees were far from budding. it was late april in the 1980s, and as it happens in our family, another funeral could not proceed with dignity. because the lorry that had the coffin just got stuck in the mud and nothing would move it. and all the…

for our god, too, is a destroying fire

of course, the more we talk of god, the less we say – for he is infinite, and our language, rich as it might be, is finite and lacks dimension. but seeing the infinite in the finite is a gift and a sign of being created in his image, for this is who we are,…

considering

well, it seems i have started drawing thought-pictures or feeling-pictures or those pictures where there is sth of  the other-ness. and this time i have as much clue as to whether that is good or bad as the last time. the change is in the air. have to think of that. meanwhile, here is one of…

seventeen – peace

peace sometimes is found in most unlikely places. and the most unlikely place of all is the human heart, ever restless, turbid, unbalanced. and here is the trick: the peace in the tormented heart cannot come from within, but only from outside. and the peace from outside cannot come from created things, as those are…

two – of trees, branches and dream-catchers

we made a dream-catcher. from willow and some knobbly yarn and two feathers – i think one was from a crow, and one, from a pigeon. the pigeon feather was picked up in the forest, how i came by the crow feather, i do not recall. and we put in two spiders – i thought they…

because of all the previous posts, now this:

Q: How many academic types does it take to change a light bulb? A: Choose one: It depends on the study that you consult. What kind of lightbulb? One to measure the household voltage, one to determine the alternating current frequency, one to determine the right kind of lightbulb based on the voltage and frequency,…

sacirsti ritmi

es klusēšu skaļi kā klusē lielgabali gadsimtu drupās. kā zāle aug, lēni, es iesakņošos starp ēnām, kur lapas trupēs. es elpošu akli kā nenoķerts zaglis nakšu krustcelēs. un kad es sabrukšu kopā ar maskām un ilūzijām, tu mani neatstāj, Tu mani neatstāj.

treetop

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…

when early autumn mornings are like a little aquarium

the pale gold of the streets, diluted by that clear autumn light brings sadness and nowhere, as the dewdrops scatter on the leaf-strewn strips of lawn by the pavements where the dogs bully their owners to take another step. and the bird-cherries, and the hawthorns have already entered the competition with the yellow strands the…

barefoot

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,…

the cicada and god

the cicada does not care about the years down underground for those three months of play and an exit, and another world, creation and death – all in one. his song transcends his night and day, weather and sunshine alike, spicing up the moments before all will be covered in browns and reds, and cold…

the world of linguistic dreams and infiltrations

tonight i dreamed in greek. as this is a language i have learned from books, i do not know what it sounds like. so the little greek letters danced and moved about, making up chunks of text, sometimes understandable, sometimes totally unintelligible. and i thought in my dream – why am i dreaming this? it…