Monday, 23 March 2015

watching the rain, longing for colour













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10 comments:

  1. pensum23 March 2015 at 17:10

    ah, but, you being you, there is colour in the wait itself...

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  2. James Owens23 March 2015 at 19:41

    how lovely these are, like tongues of soft flame. i think we could stand around these flowers and stretch our hands toward them and be warmed by the spring :-)

    it is such a cold, grey day here, and these photographs come to me as breath

    (and the blossoms' reflection on the glass, so that we look at the rain through this shimmer of colour, and the world is different now...)

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    1. Roxana1 April 2015 at 17:27

      yes, i think it is the reflection which has delighted me first :-)

      thank you, dear one.

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  3. erin25 March 2015 at 19:55

    It was cloudy and somewhat cold; I was in a dejected frame of mind, and wandered on through incapacity for doing anything else. I passed a few flowers growing on a wall over which I could just lean, and among them there was a jonquil in bloom. It is the strongest expression of desire, the year's first fragrance. I apprehended all the happiness destined for man. That unspeakable harmony of existences, the phantom of the ideal world, was present in its fulness within me. Never had I experienced anything more grand or so instantaneous. I was baffled in discovering what form, what analogy, what secret correspondence caused me to discern in this flower an illimitable beauty, the expression, the elegance, the mien of a happy and unsophisticated woman in all the grace and splendour of the season of love. Never shall I grasp that power; that vastness which eludes all expression; that form which nothing can contain; that conception of a better world, which is felt by us and Nature has not made; that heavenly ray, which we think to seize, which we long for, which wraps us away, and is yet only an indiscernible, wandering phantom, lost in the abyss of darkness.
    But this shadow, this image beautified in the vagueness, strong with all the fascination of the unknown, become indispensable amidst our miseries, grown native to our overcharged hearts—what man is there who, once privileged to behold it, can forget it forever?

    senancour, obermann

    ( --- ))))

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    1. Roxana3 April 2015 at 10:12

      oh my

      i don't know what i hadn't seen this comment before!!! i cannot even begin to tell you how much this speaks to me - but you know this already, otherwise you wouldn't have offered it to me here :-)
      i must run outside, to see the daffodils!
      yesterday at my mom's, she had huge, yellow daffodils in a glass, on the table outside in the yard:
      - why didn't you give me some too, i asked.
      - well, they are a gift for me, from your father, he came with them from the market.
      - ah! i see... i thought they were from your garden, and i wondered... but you are right, these here in the garden are much smaller, really small - why are they so tiny?
      (really like small golden drops against the brown soil, there is no grass yet)
      - ah, i don't know. maybe they are dwarfy daffodils! my mother laughed. i laughed too. we met there, in that laughter, under the late may sun.

      (just a moment out of life, an ordinary moment, nothing more, nothing less, but i feel now i want to share it with you :-)

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  4. crederae26 March 2015 at 17:49

    Roxana what a gorgeous masterpeice.as always you rain colour on our lives.
    sending you colourful kisses.

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  5. crederae26 March 2015 at 17:52

    EDIT hee hee. hello again my beautiful friend. you rain majestic colours on our lives.

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  6. crederae1 April 2015 at 01:56

    I had to return your masterpeice is so beautiful.
    yes you rain majestic colours over our capricious wind pollinated mind world.
    the mind is wet and porous absorbing your offering there is a mirecrossing to impregnate the sacrificial offerings of the raw burnt sienna of the soul
    your windowsill looks inward to the soul we are blocked from the external view your rainlight is over the landscape of the soul mind. We strive to draw ourselves out of the mire -the translucent light at the windowsill of the soul only permits diminuitive light rays to nurture our thoughts and so the salvation of light lies within without external territorializing traces of modification.
    we long to view through the windowsill of our souls but our souls curl up into a fetal position nurtured through the umbilical chord connected to the universe that is bathed in freedomlight to cultivate our thoughts and feelings.

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    1. Roxana1 April 2015 at 17:28

      oh, madeleine, but you are most generous, such expanded poetry of the soul for my humble images - i think it is the light in your eyes pouring out joy like this!!! :-)

      blossom-kisses!

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  7. Miriam11 April 2015 at 00:56

    ciclamele, ele, frumoasele, care fac ploaia sa tanjeasca dupa culoare...mi se pare ca radacina loe este ploaia, iar ele sunt iele florale care danseaza doar in lumina curganda a picaturilor...m-au trezit la viata, la asteptare si dor, la posibilitatea vlastarilor...

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