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About Me
Towards a future tome
my other windows-blog (with Michael Tweed)
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this is music, crimson notes played on the staves of a wall ... i love how the curtains in no two windows are the same, each touched into its unique shape by the air and the light (and perhaps by a hand from inside), theme and variation, rhythm ... it is the soul, as you say, and the red, systolic, open-close-open of a heartbeat:-))
ReplyDelete.
such a delight, to imagine the endless stories behind those curtains...
Delete:-)
si totusi, cum se iveste cate un colt acolo, curios,deschis, parca gata sa se deschida oricand, in ciuda oricaror hotarari... cred ca nici nu conteaza,la suflet sau la o fereastra, cat de mare se vede ca ar fi deschiderea, ea este,practic, o virtualitate pentru care orice pare a fi de ajuns.
ReplyDeletesunt asa frumoase, doar sa le privesti este de ajuns, cat ii trebuie ochiului ca sa isi ia mustul:)
:-) ai fost atrasa de acealsi lucru ca James, pe mine doar inchiderea ma frapase. ce mult spun aceste mici observatii despre starea noastra de spirit...
Deletegosh, these are curtains only, not sealed! no no no. unable to see in detail at first,
ReplyDeletei feared the windows may be bricked, closed forever. i breath with relieve. (and smile)
oh no, they are not bricked :-)
Deletesmiling too
I read this as a great desire not to speak or to say anything. As if the drawbridge was being raised...
ReplyDeleteyes, you may be right there. though if the bridge were truly floating, one could never raise it completely, could one?
DeleteThe wound is the gateway to the soul.
ReplyDeletethis line is absolutely perfect as companion to these images, i wish i have thought of it myself (though i was too busy barring those gateways, i think :-).
Delete