wind / shadows

Sunday. Time. A drive to the Alb plateau. Green views and wide horizons. So good after the city time and the gamescom impressions.

I notice the tree shadows, take a photo for the "shadow" challenge.

Some steps later, without planning, this poem forms, for #awakeaugust: 

Wind energy in the tree

a rush of leaves 

calming me

I walk on, dreaming of longer walks. 

One day, maybe...

tall bay view

A room with a bay view - that's what we had for our final two days in Mallorca, after the Finca stay in the North. Such a good contrast. I so enjoyed the view, with the palm tree right in front of our balcony.

Here's a second photo, taken an hour later, at a different angle. The bay lamps, you only notice how huge they are when you see the parasols and people next to them.

Inspired by the photo challenge "tall", and by skwatch friday.

in the middle of a huge, empty landscape

oh, memories...
Once, when travelling in India, I went on an organized desert trip. In Rajasthan, that was. Two days of desert, riding on camels, camping out there.

A jeep picked me and the others up at the guesthouses, to take us to the starting point. They had music playing, Take me Home, Country Roads, and Sweet home Alabama. The songs accompanied us through the desert, and in the evening, at the camp fire, we sang them again, in the middle of this huge, empty, sandy landscape: "Take me home, country roads, to the place we belong."
Which was right there, for that day.

*
this memory was triggered by the current photo challenge "Middle of Nowhere"

more nowheres: photo friday

Landscapes 2016

Photo Friday's theme for the week is "Landscape 2016". Such a good impulse to revisit the photo files of this year so far and do a bit of a summer reflection. The snowy moment is from a January drive.



And this one is from a new place: While at the Leipzig bookfair this year, I had some extra time and so drove a bit northwards - just some miles beyond the city, there is a lake area. I found a parking spot, gave it a try, and arrived at a beautiful lakeside walk. So good, this additional view and contrast to the humming fair halls.



And a simple but complex view: spring. seen from the clinic complex. The clinic, I don't have medical appointments there any more, but it's the place where the art sessions take place - so it now turned into a place to which I regular go. On that day, the dandelions were in full bloom, their seeds blowing in the wind, like tiny messengers of life and fate.

more to come...


and more landscapes, at photo friday

city contrasts + guerrilla knitting + just in case

A memory from Frankfurt: walking along the main square, and noticing this piece of guerilla knitting right in the middle of the city.

Just some steps further: a construction site, with a photo of the same place, after the war. So much has happened in the last 60 years. So much keeps happening.

And some related / or otherwise interesting links: 

• The Future of Cities - A Guernica special issue
• photo friday "contrast"
• Guerrilla knitting (also known as yarn bombing)
• Brazil Beyond Rio (Words without Borders July issue)
• Eden Walk: Headless, Wild and Wayward: Life Along the Old Silk Road
• Another Unwanted Facebook Update (social media article in the New Yorker)
• and just in case: Life saving tips for the wilderness

5 days in the mountains (a summer ’15 memory)

"Mountainous" - is the theme of the current photo friday challenge. It brought me back to this memory from last year's summer:

*

5 days in the mountains

Open time, or rather: this open feeling of timelessness. Breakfast on the terrace. Roads we never took before. Feeling like a beginner again, arriving in a new place.

It is so good to be in France, at this lake surrounded by mountains, and then driving into the higher mountains. Being out there, in places where time is flowing slower, and the news of the world more distant.

There’s a different tune of feelings in me, after the days that I went through. In the days that I am in now. All this sun. The open horizon. And then, finally: rain. Which is okay, too: it belongs to this landscape. I stop to watch clouds, the way they move. And see an eagle, soaring up there, in this valley of larger dimensions.

The pass is foggy, but just minutes later, in the valley towards Briancon, the skies clear. I think of the breakfast conversation: “It’s raining but it’s a good day. Every day without doctor date is a good day.”

This feeling of freedom. I could catch a plane and fly to New York for some days, if I wanted to. Could just do it. And the thought: I should do it, at some point. Do those things I tend to postpone. Make time for them.

Because you never can know.

*


Here's a short version of the trip in photos:

on the road

our breakfast view at Lake Annecy

watching clouds, and seeing an Eagle (not in the photo :)

mountain butterfly

from mountain to mountain: Mont Blanc view

Nightwalk Mandala, or: civilization, life and steps

This weekend, a friend of mine took part in the 18 mile-"Out of the Darkness" overnight walk in San Francicso to raise money for suicide prevention, awareness, and research. I hadn't heard of the walk before, and was deeply touched by the symbolism: to walk through the night, and keep walking together until the rays of sun appear.

As a symbol of support, I created a nightwalk mandala for her and all who were part of the walk. The photos it is based on have an own walking story, too - they are from Leipzig, from visiting the bookfair earlier this year. Here's one of them:

And here's a daytime photo, from the Nikolaikirche. The monument is in honour of all who met there each Monday evening n the time when there were still two Germanies, to walk for freedom. 

There also is a second, both smaller and larger monument next to the church: footsteps on the ground. A powerful reminder of the difference each one of us can make in and for the society we live in. And that all things - even the seemingly impossible ones - are starting with someone taking the first step. 

Links:

• Here's more about the walk: Out of the Darkness walk
• My friend blogged about the walk, here: One is a wanderer: Liv long
• There's more about Leipzig here in this blog: Leipzig city+bookfair (March '16)
• This also connects to the current photofriday theme "Civilization"

Mallorca: it's both a soft and a rough place. Before tourism became popular, it was hard farming here. Some bold moments: Dry fields and stone fences. Plants living on rock. A crack in the street that starts to grow. The slow power of the elements. (For photo friday: "bold")

And a revisited story to go with "Bold" - a memory from another island trip:

Courage
There was almost no one in the pool. Then a young girl stepped into the water, and started to swim along the edge - and then towards the artificial small island in the middle of it, through the "deep" water. She is french, I realized when I heard her speak - it was just one word, but it was easy to understand: "courage". Same in french and in english, only pronounced differently. It even exists in german, but isn't really used there: Courage. Seeing her, it made me think that the word has coeur in it: "heart", in french.

And so she took heart, saying to herself with each stroke:

"Courage"

"Courage"

"Courage"

That's how she arrived there at the small island, despite her fear.

she kept dreaming of.., or: blurred/sliver

Last week I visited the Joan Miro exhibition in Frankfurt. Still amazed. The photo is a reflection image I tried after visiting. And the second photo.. is the counterpart view. There is a bit more about the exhibition, blogged directly from the visit, in blue: Miro: murals and dreams.

 

It's his dream painting that delivered the story memory to go with it: Sliver.
*

Sliver 

When she woke up that morning, the last pictures of her last dream still vibrated in her mind:

She stood at a window and saw a comet flashing through the sky, leaving a silver trail behind it as it sliced through the deep black atmosphere. It was beautiful and bright and it felt so real.


And she kept dreaming of huge cities filled with streets filled with houses filled with colors and shadows. Sometimes she walked through them, sometimes she drove through them in a car. But no real memory of what happened there remained.

*

(about: the story behind sliver)
(more stories + photos: re/visit)
(inspired by photo friday: Blurred)

rough sky

When I checked the new photo friday theme on friday morning, it was "Rough", and I had no real idea where to start. Six hours later I met up with a friend - and walking there, I saw this "Rough" graffiti. Right there. The red thing, it actually is a river seat. For sunnier days.

Which leads to the title of this post: rough sky. Every now and then, there is this touch of real spring in the air, with sunny moments. Then the clouds take over again. And just to add to it, when the sun shines, then it's often in the middle of the week, in the morning. I miss the sun-terrace-time. The feeling of warmth on my skin. Of walking in less layers. Of waking to bright blue sky... this is a photo from this morning. A sky that feels both soft, and rough in its withholding:



Which connects to 2 poems I once wrote, on a similar morning. It came up when I searched my writing files for "rough" - the word isn't in the poem itself, but in the invite to submit: "Send Rough Poetic Stuff". So here they are:

*

rave/n

an overcast morning

but the sun rises just there

in the only stripe of sky

between cherry twigs

greys blend into rays of light

while a stone shadow

stretches into the breathing

of an asana posture

later, on the way to the bakery

a white raven circles

underneath the holes 

in the clouds

like a messenger 

waiting

* 

359 degrees

walk clockwise

gather the hum melody

of the water neutrons

falling though this metal body

called heating

think outside

this room

think of the birds

migrating into the abroad

while their wings

float through the night

of another past

think clock
wise

*

links/about 
more skies: skywatch friday
more rough moments: photo friday
more texts from the past: re/visit
rave + 359 were first published in VoidMagazine, which followed its name and isn't online anymore

Hanami moment + Yellow water roses

A moment from this week: arriving at this walkway and being amazed by the cherry blossoms that are in bloom right now. Such a beautiful and almost surreal sight, giving an idea of the Japanese Hanami event . And nicely fitting for the new photo friday challenge "Blossom".

When I looked for a story for the theme, I moved from cherries to ... roses. This is a story written a longer while ago, and is now blooming again in a new, slightly different version.  And to go with it, a rose petal photo, from last summer:

Yellow water roses

He knocks at the door without announcement, in the middle of a sentence. Says he came to note the amount of water that is used up in a year, in this house. I stand there, unsure what to do, where to find the figure. “The counter is in the cellar,” he says. He walks down the steps, ahead of me. While he writes the figures in a black book, I tell him about a new measure installed to control the flow, to reduce it. “It doesn't make a difference,” the water man explains. “It's no use making these efforts, they come to nothing.” Then he leaves, without saying another word.

Later I finish the letter, and then go to post it. In the park next to the office, there are some youngsters, dressed in dark clothes that don’t fit. When I pass them, I notice a girl who stands at the edge, pretending she is part of the game. Yet she isn't. At least not in a playful way. Walking towards them, I pick some twigs and keep them in my hand. Then I enter their game. They all stare at me. I appear serious, but I am playing a game, too. “You”, I say, pointing at her. “You forgot to deliver the flowers.”

The words move her away, while the others stare, unable to protest. The thing is, every one is aware of the games played, of the intentions underneath. But none would ever acknowledge the knowledge. It would be breaking the rules of the game.

On the way home, I think of the girl in the corner again, and in two curves of memory the scene leads to a rose bush in the garden, in front of the house I don’t live in any more. The first time the bush bloomed, it carried one single yellow blossom. There was a spider living in it. A year later, when it bloomed a second time, there were three blossoms unfolding after another. Like past present future. Like morning evening night. Sometimes, in the mornings, I stopped to touch them. They felt like satin, sitting out there in the chilling cold.

It is this memory that makes me enter the flower shop a day later, to buy them. Yellow roses. But they are gone, leaving only red, pink and white. Thus I buy the red ones.

It was a wrong move. I know it already when I walk out of the shop door. The feeling gets confirmed when I put the roses in a vase, and fill it with water. They won’t do. For a minute I think of taking them back to the shop. Instead, I carry the vase to the room that isn’t used anymore. Yet the petals stay in my mind through the morning. I know it is silly, for they are only flowers. It is irritating that they have grown so important at all, as they would soon wither anyway. But then, that’s true for everything. And the roses, they are only there for a short time.

I didn’t see them again, by the way. The water man. And the girl from the park. But once in a while, I now find a flower in my mailbox, delicately pressed to a thin, timeless layer, talking to me without words.

up where we (not) belong, or: H.owl

Wilderness. For me, one of the regions that still feels wild in Europe is: the Alps. There are streets throught he valleys, yes. Some towns, too, and some pass roads - but most of them close in winter. And even in summer, driving along those roads reminds you that the mountains are a different world.

I still remember that road, and the way the clouds moved in, brushing the mountain tops, and bringing some singles drops of rain. There was a parking area, and I stopped to take a picture. Standing there, I noticed a bird. It was huge. And high. Too far away to be all sure, but it probably was an eagle. It was at home there, in the vastness of those mountains.




Still happy about that moment. Nice that photo friday brought that memory back, with its new wilderness theme.

And a wilderness-story to go with it:

*

H.owl 
She sat in ant.icipation, watched a fire.fly. It was her first night vigil. By daylight, she had laughed the task away. I’m no cow.ard, she had stated.

She swallow.ed. Fact was, the night had a fourth, fur.ious dimension, there, next to the r.eal river. And just like her, the forest, so calm at noon, now was dealing with its own moving bear.ings.


*

white, or: colored words on a stone wall

The usual color for walls in Lanzarote is: white. That goes for buildings, and also for the stone fences that are shielding places from the omnipresent wind. What's rather rare, though, are graffitis. The photo above is a desert café with a stunning view. The graffitis, as it looks, are the usual "I've been here" ones.

Later, driving along a street, passing white houses and more white houses, I noticed one that was different. Before I could read the lines, I was beyond it already. So I turned, and drove by again.

 

I can't really speak Spanish, but the main messages of the lines are about a better society: Fraterna, Igualitaria y Libre - that's the paralle to the core message of the French Revolution: Liberté, égalité, fraternité - Liberty, Equality, Fraternity.

Here's a close-up:



Would be interesting to live in a world where everyone notes his core values on his house, I mused while driving along the ocean road, instead of the rather pointless "XY was here" graffiti. And preferably in each ones favourite color.

*

Inspired by the current photofriday theme "White". And again, I also looked for a story that fits the theme, That wasn't too difficult - the story still makes me smile. It was inspired by a flash writing challenge. By the way, the theme ... was neither "white" nor "colors", but "Union of Opposites."

*

White

“White,” he says.

“Black,” I answer. Then I correct myself: “Snow.”

He doesn't look up, just keeps filling my answers into little printed boxes.

“Street,” he says.

“Sign,” I answer.

He takes his time.

My mind keeps playing his game while I wait for the next task. House Mouse. Trap Escape. Door Window...

“Now pick a color,” he says.

He places 6 cards in front of me. Blue Yellow Red. Green Orange Violet.

“White,” I say.

He doesn't get the joke. Or maybe it's part of the rules: no humor.

“Pick a color”, he says.

“Orange,” I answer.

He takes the card, takes another note.

We repeat the color game until there is only green left.

“Hope goes last,” I comment. I can't help it.

“They are complementary,” he informs me. “If you add all of them, you arrive at white.”

I hadn't known that. Or maybe I had, a long time ago. I lean back, waiting for the next stupid telling question, but we are done. He hands me a cheque.

On the way home, I buy a box of water colors. I make sure that all six colors are included, blue yellow red, green orange violet. I paint them on a boxless page, one after the other. I try. White, I say. White like light. I try again. Yet the places I arrive at are of a different tune - light, but not white at all.  

I like them better. 

*

Previous themes + stories

• Tranquil: Boat to Battambang
• Height: Love and Affection
• Eyes; Augenblick, or: A Like
• Street Scenes: City Crossing

3 tranquil memories: Bay of Mallorca, Breathing In, and Boat to Battambang

The skies are still rainy and grey here, and will remain like that for the next days. Yet the week is brightened by other rays of light: photofriday has the theme "Tranquil", which made me revisit water photos - I guess the one above (from Mallorca) is the one that is most soothing.

Plus, I received an invite for an uplifting poetry project, which is about positive short poems, meditations or quotes. Took a bit until I found it, as it was hiding in plain sight on the wooden stairway, written on a paper to remind me of it during the day:

“Breathing in, I calm my body.
Breathing out, I smile.”
- Thich Nhat Hanh 

This quote, it was given to me by a traveller in Laos, by Biancha from Holland. She wrote it into the book I was reading then, or did we trade books? Can't remember that detail. But the quote accompanied me ever since.

And more tranquil memories: Following the idea to also revisit my stories when a new photo challenge comes up, here's a "Tranquil" story, or rather: a tranquil travelogue.

*

Boat to Battambang
A travelogue out of Cambodia

“The boat to Battambang leaves at seven”, said the boat-ticket-seller cheerfully. I sighed. being at the boat at seven means pick up at five thirty means get up at five... which is exactly the time I got up the day before, to see the sunrise at Angkor Wat.

And no, there's no later boat. Just as there's no later sunrise. Cambodia is still pretty much running on suntime. Life starts at dawn, when the first rays of light dance through the night sky, tickling the stars. That's when the streets start to get crowded with people balancing baskets of fresh bread or fresh fish on their head, with bicycles delivering unbelievable amounts of coconuts in one go, and with motobikes carrying whole families or whole pigs on their backseat. You can see old monks in their orange robes lined up for food offerings now, young girls in their blue-white school-uniforms lined up for pickups, and multicoloured markets full of fresh vegetables and fruits under yellow and green umbrellas lined up for customers.

As the sun rises higher and higher, the heat pours in the streets and fields, and everyone moves towards the shade. Siesta-time. Time of swinging hammocks, of dozing dogs, of motortaxi-drivers taking naps on their bikes like cats on the branches of a tree. Then, in the afternoon, the pulse of life increases again. The street get busy once more. and the river, too - boats come and go, fish get caught, laundry gets done. One hour before sunset is bathing time - young girls are splishing and splashing, young boys are jumping from boats into the river again and again, women in pink sarongs wash their black hair, old men gracefully take their daily bath. All in this one river, that starts to change its colour again, reflecting the orange and the hazy yellow clouds in its water mirror.

If you happen to take the seven o'clock boat from Angkor to Battambang, and if your engine breaks down, too, you can watch the whole day-circle from the deck of the boat, while you slowly float through hundreds of s-shaped curves. You sit there, let the hours pass by, and with every hour the easiness and hardness of this life that seems light years away from our electric-light-and-inside-shower-world touches you deeper.

And then, much later, when the sun has said goodbye and the moon has said hello to the skies again, you find yourself on the balcony of your guesthouse, under the shining stars, above the sleeping streets, beside the river that just keeps flowing and flowing, and you find yourself saying a prayer for all the children that waved hello to you during the day on the river, wishing they find a way to a safer life without losing their smiles.

Height, the Blues, and Love + Affection

Today: rainy weather with some moments of sun. I walked to the bakery with this post-travel-blues feeling, this surreality of things: 3 days ago, I walked along the ocean. Tomorrow there might be snow coming.

Following that mood, I looked for an island photo for the new photofriday theme "Height" - that was easy: the Lighthouse image, taken at sunrise. And I also looked for a story that fits the theme, which took a bit longer, but then the memory surfaced - it's a story that reaches back to my schooldays, when I was the tallest in the class:

*

Love and Affection

She is the tallest one of her class. The tallest of the girls, and almost the tallest of all. It is when they have to stand in line in the gym that she feels it most. In the class room, when everyone is sitting, it isn't that obvious. But here, on the green floor, in her training shirt and training shorts, there is no place to hide the fact.

You might think that the tallness is an advantage for her, that it makes those sports classes easier for her. Not so. She isn't good at catching balls. Maybe it would be different if she would be in a sports club. Like Ellen, the teacher's favourite, the one who can walk on her hands and wears Orlando Magic shirts she borrows from her older brother. Or like Antje, the one with the blonde hair and the small feet, the one with the white sneakers with golden stripes.

When it comes to forming teams, it's mostly up to them. Standing on either side of the net, they take turns in naming the next to come to the field. Marion to the left, Daniela to the right, Elke to the left, Karen to the right, Susi to the left, Anja to the right. All the good ones first, until it is only the rest to choose from, until it doesn't matter any more whom to take.

Another thing she isn't good at, at least not at that point of time: running. The day they do the four thousand meter run is a summer day. She will remember the heat in the bus, on the way to the stadium, and the way her training clothes feel sticky when she changes into them, as if they know how much she dislikes them. 

The others are smiling, for them sport classes are a break, something to look forward to. The teacher stands at the start line, stop watch in his hands, shouting GO. Nothing left to do now but to follow. And so she tries to at least stay in the middle. But her body has a mind of its own, it lets her fall behind, step by step. She thinks about ending it, she could give up and walk away, she could pretend she is sick. But she doesn't have the strength for it, and so she simply moves on, knowing that she isn't even running any more.

Antje with her gold strip Adidas sneakers and Ellen with the Orlando Magic shirt are finished long before she reaches the line. Her teacher just jots down her time, says something to her she doesn't want to hear.

Only once are things different. It's another summer, an afternoon lesson, at the end of the school year. She takes the route through the fields to get to school. Her walkman plays Def Leppard, and one of the Hysteria songs keeps playing in her head after she puts down the walkman. Gimme love and affection, I got the heart, you got the beat, Joe keeps singing for her, inaudible for the others, for the teacher, for Antje, for Ellen, I got the heart, I got the dream. His voice takes her through all, through the changing into training clothes, through the warm up, through whatever stupid move she has to do in that lesson, all the way to the moment she changes back to herself, to Jeans and T-shirt, I don't need your understanding, we got the dream, oh imagine it.

It is only years later, when she can speak English well enough to reach the end of a sentence without stumbling, when she can do the whole training circle in the forest behind the town without running out of air halfway through, that she meets her sports teacher again.

“I go jogging regularly now”, she tells him. “I can do four thousand metres now easily.”

He doesn't react.

“I was in your class once, the one who almost didn't reach the finish line”, she explains.

He doesn't remember. He is pleased to hear the news, but he can't remember the day back then. To him, her failure had meant nothing. A thought that is relieving. They chat some more minutes, about school, about music, about nothing of importance.

Back home, she searches for the old Def Leppard cassette. It is still there, stored away in a box, forgotten and now found again. She puts it into the recorder, and it happens there, while listening to the tunes of her past, that she realizes the two mistakes she had made.

It hadn't been the day at the stadium that her teacher couldn't remember. It had been her whom he hadn't any memory of. And the other thing: she had got the lyrics wrong. Def Leppard, love and affection. The refrain actually started with Don't. Don't gimme love and affection, Joe had always said. Don't gimme love, the wrong reason, it don't matter to me.

*

Previous themes + stories

• Augenblick, or: A Like
• 2 street scenes + a story crossing

Augenblick, or: A Like

Time for some file browsing and revisiting: the new photofriday theme is "Eyes". Not an easy challenge, but a good one. It took me back to London, to that "Eye" moment in the British Museum.

From there, I moved to the curious world of homonyms, of sounding-alike words. Like: two and too. Or: I and eye. Or, if you add a dimension and cross language borders: eagle and Igel (the German hedgehog). Such different animals, but same name. And such joy, to revisit those words from back then:

*

A Like

“Sea,” he says.

Her eyes are closed, her toes curled into his. “She,” she answers.

He doesn’t get it.

She paints the words into the air: sea, see, sie.

“They are alike,” she explains, “sea and see. And in German, it would be understood as sie, which means: she.”

“Homonym,” he says.

Now she doesn’t get it.

“Different words, same pronunciation,” he explains. “Definition of homonym.”

“Probably the very same word in German,” she figures, and searches for more of them.

“I,” she says.

“Eye,” he answers,

“And in German: Ei. Egg.”

Outside, a bus drives by, honks.

“One more?”

“Easy,” she answers. "More. Is Moor in German: bog.”

“Okay,” he says. “Done.”

She beams. “That’s another one, actually.”

“Done?”

“Dann. Then.”

“So then,” he says, his hand in her hair, and they both fall silent while their minds go hunting for more words that sound as alike as they feel that day.

2 street scenes + a story crossing

It's one week now that we are here, on Lanzarote island. The weather is still good. In the next days, there might be some clouds, but also sun. And the internet is back! It was down since Monday evening, a reminder to take nothing for granted. So here's the next post, inspired by the current photofriday theme "Street Scenes".

The photo on top is my favourite street here, when it comes to street names: Avenida de los Volcanoes - Vulcanoe Avenue.

And from the files, another interesting street scene: Sokrates lives here.

*

Being offline had a good side effect, or maybe it was just a coincidence in time - but this morning I thought about one of my resolutions for this year, to revisit stories I have written. And an idea surfaced, one that is so simple that I wonder why I didn't think of it before:

Each week, I like the way the new photofriday theme makes me go and look for that theme, either in a new photo, or in my photo files. And following those themes, I might simply switch folder, and look for a fitting story. So the revisiting would have a fixed place and theme.

Here's the one for this week, for "Street Scene".

I still remember how that story happened, in winter, while driving and musing, and seeing those scenes along the way:

*

City Crossing  

Cars going. Cars coming. Cars whizzing through the night, in endless streams, forming a line of red leading inwards, a line of white leading outwards. On the side of a four lane road, a house with three towers and silver roof, fully alit, shining like an ufo that fell from the sky. The door, wide open. But no one there, at the door, in the rooms behind the countless windows. A life size still life.

In town, mazes of metal, of stone. Two yellow buses crossing on a bridge, in the very moment the traffic light underneath them turns green. Three trees on the left side, remnants of the time before asphalt. Prisoners of the city, they are. There is no way out for them, not to the left, not to the right. So they stand. Reaching for the sky with their black arms.

At the train station, a sign saying Agra. As if it was close. As if it wasn't two continents away. Between a media maxistore and a company called clockhouse: a plastic half moon, dangling in the air, accompanied by pink and green stars.

At a crossing, a woman in a long white coat. On the other side of the street, a guy in an orange jacket. Maybe their eyes will meet, for a moment, while they cross to the other side. Maybe we all met, somewhere, in between streets.

glass and more glass, or: outside inside

"Glass" is the new photo theme. First I browsed some files and looked for "glass", and then got distracted and instaed looked for memories of a year ago. That's how I arrived at this ocean moment, from the 2nd December 2014. And while switching the format to square, I had to smile: it actually is a glass photo.



From the outside to the inside: this is a photo taken through a window. And it includes a glass lamp, too.



And a final glass photo: that's a cacao tree, part of an exhibition in the chocolate museum. Funny how cacao is so well know, but the original tree and fruit was new to me.

*

more glass moments: photo friday

Minimalism island

The new photofriday theme is Minimalism...

which made me think: if Minimalism was a place, it would probably be Lanzarote. Especially the area of Timanfaya Nationalpark, which has a touch of landscape art:

There, every single green plant is a small spectacle:

More moments from Lanzarote in this blog

More minimalism: photo friday

3 november moments: walk, sky, sunset

November is a festival of colors right now. So good. 

It feels like the colors of the leaves are stronger this year -
maybe due to the rather warm and dry summer?

Or is it my mindfulness practice, or the effect of having been away 

for 10 days, and thus seeing the change not gradually,

but in contrast to a landscape that was mostly green?

Probably a combination of all of it.

Here are 2 more photos: 

Walking along a scenic country path, watching sky patterns:

And a sunset moment: 

more skies from around the world:

skywatch friday