November Nostalgia

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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”