“Just as a painter needs light in order to put the finishing touches to his picture, so I need an inner light, which I feel I never have enough of in the autumn.” – Tolstoy
There’s nothing like staying home on a cold Friday afternoon, making a cup of tea and reading the last a few pages of the book while soaking in the sun. Continue reading “In the light, in the shades”
How fast a month can fly?
It was just first day of November and the pumpkin patches were weary, soon their orange color was vanishing into lush greens of fresh cut Christmas trees. People were waiting for Thanksgiving dinner, long commutes, lengthy political discussions with know-it-all relatives, and those black Friday deals. Shops were selling pumpkin pies, pumpkin cheesecakes, pumpkin ice-creams, pumpkin recipe books. A dozen of dead turkeys were always on display on the shelves. Continue reading “November Nostalgia”
At 6 o’clock in the morning when loneliness stalks you,
visit your garden, listen to the whisper of the branches.
See how green the grass looks at the other side of your body.
Watch the cloud worshiping the bright orange hue in the sky,
see how everything in the nature is neatly arranged,
so individualistic, so alone, yet so much in order and friendship. Continue reading “At 6 o’clock in the morning”
“Touch has a memory.” ― John Keats
I don’t remember when I slept well last time. My mom smiles, “Welcome to motherhood.”
And I just stare at your sleeping face; I wipe your mouth with the corner of this soft cloth,
and put gentle kisses on your cheeks.
Twice. Every time.
“Can you believe we created her?” He says.
I nod in disbelief. Continue reading “Sunday afternoon”
It is not just another autumn evening. It is cold, calm, and composed. It is rainy, cloudy, and happy. People are home, drying their rain boots and raincoats. We are wandering outside. I am clicking the sky, my usual activity on rainy days. I am heavily pregnant.
A flock of birds is returning home. I am wondering why they need a home when they have wings.
Soon I am going to find the answer.
Continue reading “An urge to nest”
Through the windshield now
a supermoon is staring at us,
escaping a handful of gray clouds
that are trying to blanket her in.
Cozy, she never wants to feel. Continue reading “So far”
Love, love, love your life, say her lips.
And don’t give up hope
even when the ocean is calm
but you can’t see anything in fog. Continue reading “She tells me how to live”
“It’s a short journey, be comfortable,” he says with a friendly smile.
I adjust the seat belt and notice him from the backseat. He is wearing tall boot socks and a pair of shorts. His vintage aviator is clean from a good maintenance.
“Can you suggest a shorter route?” he asks again with a smile. Continue reading “A stranger passes by”
“Time is a game played beautifully by children.”- Fragments
The small girl looks at my baseball cap, then slowly at my watch, then my face, and hair. I smile, and greet her “Hello.” She holds her mom’s hand and takes a few steps away. Then she tilts her head, stares at me for a couple of seconds, and smiles back. Her teeth have gone to the tooth fairy, and messy hair tucked into a ponytail. In a minute, she says, “Hello” and hides her face behind the bread aisle of the relaxed grocery store. Continue reading “11 AM”
The city library stores a million of books. On colder evenings when the sun and moon happily co-exist on the same sky, I love visiting the place. Mostly for a silent stroll. Mostly for the smell of the books. But truly to find new stories.
Nowadays my ability to smell things has increased. So when I enter the library, I am welcome with all my favorite fragrances- of old ink, of used books, of ignored coffee in the mug that people forget when they sit by the big windows gazing at those open pages. Each reader is a story there. And each reader has a favorite story where she looks for comfort.
At one corner, there is a little store that sells donated old books. I find some real gems, each time I stop by. It is a world where used wisdom sells for two bucks. Continue reading “Trading stories”
When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
– Mary Oliver
I met you at a very tender age. You wore a purple top, so tight and low cut that nothing was left to the imagination. Your husband gave us little lecture on love and new beginnings. You giggled at every silly joke the evening made that day, and your judging eyes stared at my uncomfortable face for hours. It was our first meeting. Continue reading “Woman to Woman”
“Socrates said, ‘The unexamined life is not worth living.’ But the examined one … is no bargain” – My most favorite take-away from Woody Allen’s latest ‘Café Society’
In my building, the walls are so thick that you cannot hear your neighbors. I know couple of them by the things they display- their well groomed pets, and cars that silently stop behind me when I try to reach the crosswalk. I found each family owns multiple cars, at least one for each family member. Continue reading “In the depth of August”
The blue river is grey at morning
and evening. There is twilight
at dawn and dusk. I lie in the dark
wondering if this quiet in me now
is a beginning or an end.”
– Jack Gilbert
Continue reading “This quiet in me”
I guess I have seen love
not just in words,
not just in black fonts
of sleepless poetry. Continue reading “Not just in words”
lovers go and lovers come
but any two are perfectly
alone there’s nobody else alive
If you’re an old reader of this blog, you may remember that walking in little coastal towns and noting down little things of nature are my most favorite activities. It’s fun to watch tiny lives living fearlessly close to the big ocean. It’s fun to take a hike around them. Continue reading “A walk to blend”
“Gardening is akin to writing stories. No experience could have taught me more about grief or flowers, about achieving survival by going, your fingers in the ground, the limit of physical exhaustion.” ― Eudora Welty
Continue reading “Floral in summer”
A morning is never wounded. Continue reading “Morning”
“Happiness is an allegory, unhappiness a story.” ― Leo Tolstoy
After a hike in the hill, capturing a resting bird is a cherry on top, or in other words, ultimate happiness. Continue reading “Like a cherry on top”
I have observed silence from close and far. I have embraced it. I have fought with its shadow. I have listened to its harsh and mushy sounds. Then I have written five short stories.
♦ On a sunny day, the ocean is fierce, and people on the beach, fiercer. They hug the water like long lost friends, jump into each other out of joy, play for hours, and cook steaks to celebrate the togetherness. She watches them all from a distance, and notes down her observations on her little pink book. Isn’t everything a story from far? Continue reading “Symphony of Silence”
“Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple.” ― Dr. Seuss
Writing is not a daily habit of mine. Words come and go. Sometimes I make notes. Sometimes I let them go. Sometimes I write spontaneously.
Don’t write bad memories, they say. So on my not so good days, I hardly write. On my good days, I sip watermelon juice and observe the outside world. I shop, cook, dine, listen to a friend, and read about other people on different books. I celebrate. That way. Continue reading “Blank pages”
“Be melting snow.
Wash yourself of yourself.” ― Rumi
Perhaps the silence is what
annoys you the most,
silence that comes from
within and reflects on
your wounded present. Continue reading “Insight out”
While driving in a little sleepy town by the ocean, we found a small store that sold handmade crafts and cards. I found this little gem there and immediately fell in love. Continue reading “Wednesday Wisdom”
This might be a design,
how our paths cross
and how we can share
scars, and hopes. Continue reading “Not all those who wander are lost”
Among the shadows
you heard the song
that the flowers
after gathering all
colds in black clouds,
and hiding them
behind the fierce sun. Continue reading “The first day of summer”
“time is a tree (this life one leaf)
but love is the sky and i am for you
just so long and long enough” – E.E. Cummings
Continue reading “A note from the evening”
Outside the rain is
falling down like memory, Continue reading “One day in the rain”
Under my bare feet
raindrops, mud, then
first green grass.
Have you even been
touched by love? Continue reading “May”
“Once upon a time, when women were birds, there was the simple understanding that to sing at dawn and to sing at dusk was to heal the world through joy. The birds still remember what we have forgotten, that the world is meant to be celebrated.” – When Women Were Birds
In a world where we are almost always losing originality, I take breaks to go to nature where other living beings are happily being themselves. Birds are not trying to be redwoods and redwoods are not turning to hummingbirds. Continue reading “That bird in her safe haven”
Narrate me another story
Erase memories like
how they wipe mist
from the petals Continue reading “The heart knows what it knows”