Sometimes...

           I get this sudden urge to find you, to look for you. I search and search and spend hours looking for you...the feeling is so strong and devastating that time goes by and nothing matters...

Then, suddenly I realize, you have always been there, and I have always loved you.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

By Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.   

His house is in the village though;   

He will not see me stopping here   

To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer   

To stop without a farmhouse near  

Between the woods and frozen lake   

The darkest evening of the year.   

He gives his harness bells a shake   

To ask if there is some mistake.   

The only other sound’s the sweep   

Of easy wind and downy flake.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.   

But I have promises to keep,   

And miles to go before I sleep,   

And miles to go before I sleep.

...at the end of the dusty road

Remember, I will always be there, at the end of the road...remember....

Remember, what we had, was real....it was real

We continue our lives, we live, we breath, we wake up every morning ...we continue

We live in our dreams, nobody can take our dreams away from us....

and

You'll always be at the end of the road


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ajSzCtwTj_I&feature=autoplay&list=FLqz4ntb-0xy2FTVyDeFs9Gg&playnext=1

A Strange Destiny of a Starfish

MY MOST BEAUTIFUL THING

 My daughter Ana and I have a strange hobby of putting our dreams on paper making them into stories, this is one of hers, dedicated to me, when I was in desperate need of ...well of ...brightening up, I guess. Wanted to share it with you. The story was published, with Ana's permission, as her Japanese friend did graphic design (her major) . The story has been translated in Japanese, will be soon published in Japan.This is only my poor translation in English. 


       

*all rights*



A Strange Destiny of a Starfish 

One velvet, lilac day, one lilac starfish fell from the sea. One seahorse, said, he saw her dreaming on the bubbles of the waves, a dream woven of strawberry taste and the smell of night skies. 

The bubbles of the waves, carried her towards the yellow shores, like lace, slightly tickling her back. And, while the starfish dreamt of the Moon, she ordered the sea to withdraw, and the sea obeyed.

 And the sleeping starfish slided from the lace foamy wave to the sand on the yellow coast. 

They say, it took many hours before she woke up, from her flavoured dream. So near her world, and yet so far away. 

While she was still very young, and made only slight moves with her starry tube like rays, no bigger that those of the circle on a muffin tray, an old wise sea shell told her stories of wonderful worlds that lay far beyond the reach of the sea, about the world that reflects upon the mirror of the sea, without touching it. 

The little starfish dreamt of the reverse mirror, and from time to time, it seemed that through the bubbles and colourful small fishes a ray of light reached from the other side, bringing light to the roof of her world.
Now, she found herself alone and scared in a kind of in-between world, neither below, nor above her dream, while her body was drying, only her tears gave her the moist and life. 

And what will happen when I cry out all my tears, she asked herself, silently, and glanced through them, and for a slight moment her salty tears reminded her of the sea, from where she had been watching all her starry life.
 Later, she remembered, that at that moment, she was already drifting above the sand, that one hand lifted her from her sandy prison, and was carrying her. 

She travelled in this hand, reading the curved lines on the hand, still crying the tears that gave her life. It seemed that she could no longer feel the presence of her home, when the salty flavour disappeared from the air, and unknown flavours spread like a shadow above her. Some, she remembered from her dreams, the smell of wild forest strawberries, and the night which was slowly falling. The hand was still carrying her gently, and lifting her further and higher from the sea.

 Then suddenly, behind one cypress tree and one cloud, he appeared, in his shiny armour, and she recognised the Moon. At that moment, the sea seemed to have flown out of her soul. Watching him , night by nigh, from the sea, a strange wish would appear making her blush, making her tube like rays tremble, a wish , that at least in one of her dreams, she would become a part of his life. She felt that no one could be more powerful and more beautiful then him. He, who ruled upon her sea, she followed him through all twelve of his forms, which left secret, thousands of years old scrolls written in her soul, scrolls that smell like jasmine flower, scrolls which uncover a new life, and give her body a mysterious light. 

The hand, that seemed to feel and follow the fading heart beats of the starfish, carried her higher and higher, towards the top of a mountain, where they say, every 3rd and 17th night, you could feel the smell of the sky, and in rare occasions, after the rain, the air would be filled with cinnamon. 

While she was colouring those curved lines, inside the hand that carried her, with lilac colour, she was already riding on the back of a huge turtle, grabbing huge steps towards the sky.

 Everything turned into silence, and her tears, drop by drop, became happy and shiny. 

Everything went still in one moment, the hand reached far beyond the sky and placed the starfish there. 

They say, that she still shines in her lilac colour, on the left side of the sky, just next to the Moon. The sea, keeps moving lazily below her, awaiting the starry shower, which will return her to the sea.....at least, an old seahorse, keeps telling the story.....                                                                                                                 

Sufficient unto itself

                                      

 

What is the mechanism kept  by  apparently bare branches of the dried almonds  to bring out such beauty and perfection?
And yet there are those who do not believe in miracles ... Life manifests in countless ways, shapes and colors...