such richness always seems to me more luxuriant like this, when it just begins to decay, when the first petals drift from the flowers, the years rub paint from a windowsill, weather chips some plaster from the bricks ...
this is one of my pleasures recently, to walk the streets, those streets which haven't been destroyed by the communist madness, and discover old houses and their gardens... i stand there by the fence and look inside and imagine endless strories...
ce frumos ai pus si titlul, acea extravaganta, o femeie cu un porttigaret,imi inchoui, citind seara la o lapma in gradina, si trandafirii acolo, nici macar ei de ajuns pentru ceea ce traieste ea...si culorile se umplu de albastru, apoi de siajele aurii ale lampii si ferestrele sunt si redevin ceea ce au fost dintotdeauna: un fel de a fi. ma linistesc, in iunie, acel "june", un cuvant pe care il iubesc, cu obraji de fata tanara, rumena fara a-si pierde nimic din gratie...
femeia nu era acolo, dar ea trebuie sa fie, nu, in povestirile noastre e mereu prezenta :-) ce minunat ai spus despre june! acum imi dau seama ca si pentru mine june inseamna la fel :-)
my beautiful friend, how I miss your gracious beauty and your inspiration in your journal here.hope to hear from you soon. HUGS to you and the little princess of light.have a beautiful day filled with love and light.
junie pare departe acum, dar aceasta frumusete, nuantele de magenta si rosu (eu le vad bordo, ochiul meu este deja setat) sunt acolo, prezente mereu, incredibil de clare, de libere, de sincere. casele vechi au endless stories, cum spui...
My, what exquisite gardens.
ReplyDeleteBut you know, gardens are never really old--only their accoutrements, such as fallible buildings and, of course, fallible gardeners.
fallible gardeners!
Delete(i think we always imagine gardeners to be old, with long big beards, like the saints, no? :-)
such richness always seems to me more luxuriant like this, when it just begins to decay, when the first petals drift from the flowers, the years rub paint from a windowsill, weather chips some plaster from the bricks ...
ReplyDeletebeautiful :-)
.
this is one of my pleasures recently, to walk the streets, those streets which haven't been destroyed by the communist madness, and discover old houses and their gardens... i stand there by the fence and look inside and imagine endless strories...
Delete:-)
ce frumos ai pus si titlul, acea extravaganta, o femeie cu un porttigaret,imi inchoui, citind seara la o lapma in gradina, si trandafirii acolo, nici macar ei de ajuns pentru ceea ce traieste ea...si culorile se umplu de albastru, apoi de siajele aurii ale lampii si ferestrele sunt si redevin ceea ce au fost dintotdeauna: un fel de a fi.
ReplyDeletema linistesc, in iunie, acel "june", un cuvant pe care il iubesc, cu obraji de fata tanara, rumena fara a-si pierde nimic din gratie...
femeia nu era acolo, dar ea trebuie sa fie, nu, in povestirile noastre e mereu prezenta :-)
Deletece minunat ai spus despre june! acum imi dau seama ca si pentru mine june inseamna la fel :-)
ah que c'est joli chere Roxana l'ancienne pierre et les fleurs ephemeres.
ReplyDeleteje t'embrasse
je t'embrasse aussi, chere madeleine...
Deletemy beautiful friend, how I miss your gracious beauty and your inspiration in your journal here.hope to hear from you soon.
ReplyDeleteHUGS to you and the little princess of light.have a beautiful day filled with love and light.
junie pare departe acum, dar aceasta frumusete, nuantele de magenta si rosu (eu le vad bordo, ochiul meu este deja setat) sunt acolo, prezente mereu, incredibil de clare, de libere, de sincere.
ReplyDeletecasele vechi au endless stories, cum spui...