November Nostalgia

at-6-oclock-in-the-morning

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

at-6-oclock

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”

An urge to nest

an-urge-to-nest

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”

11 AM

11am

“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”

Trading stories

trading-stories

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”

Woman to Woman

Woman to woman

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”

In the depth of August

August

“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’

 

1.

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”

Symphony of Silence

Symphony of Silence

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.

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♦ 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”

Blank pages

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“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”

That bird in her safe haven

Bird in Pfeiffer

“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”