Literary escapades

Summer is in full swing. The hot smell of cobbled stones is here again. Climbing up the narrow medieval street is never easy under the scorching sun. Fortunately, there is always an ice-cream place close by to soften the heat, refreshing desserts paving the way to  one of the cathedrals, so peaceful and more importantly cool, almost cold even on the hottest of days.  Time always stays still here, as if preserved in an invisible capsule. Tall grey walls, sky high ceilings where even slightest sound will come to life and travel between columns long enough to be noticed. It's certainly the place to hide from mid-day heat just browsing through familiar faces of stone kings, queens, saints... Elaborate decorations, grey stone floors that have seen so much, ever present smell of the past always here to remind of itself.  If you close your eyes and then open them and look up those stairs behind the half-opened iron door, it may lead you away from your own era into one of...

Lazy summer day... In town it's too hot, movements are restricted. The sun above is in charge until it sets and cool breeze brings a refreshing relief. August days are long, there's no hurry, no purpose. Going with the flow however slow is the motto. Icy drinks, tons and tons of ice-cream and murmuring fan... When you summon all your courage and venture outside in search of green there's always a reward ahead. Under the trees is another world and soft grass tickles feet taking the pains of long walk away, invigorating with new energy. Distant landscape luring further... The  midday sun  is starring from above blurring the lines, lulling into a sleep with sounds softening and fading away... shhh You fall into a dream of flowers, sky and distant lake with promised cool water where you can immerse yourself and let go of heat... Water..., so cool and refreshing, so delicate in texture, streaming away... Your eyes are suddenly open and you realize that it's sta...

The beauty that never fades, that is simple and yet an expression of the myriads of shades and sounds. It stands in front of you in all its modesty  that doesn't require any explanation and takes your breath away, holding your soul in its delicate palms making you very aware of the feelings streaming through like a sudden light from behind the clouds at the end of the storm. The air is so charged, the senses are heightened to the breaking point where you afraid to open your eyes. The view might tear you apart only to collect the pieces seconds later and heal and shape your whole being into something radically new.  The transformation is almost complete. Once more there's a chance to come out of the cocoon and soar. The skies are tempting. Diving into unknown and yet so painfully familiar from the mix of memories and dreams is exhilarating. There aren't any regrets or restrictions,  only the vast emptiness of ever-consuming space with the beauty in its highest form...

It's finally happening. I am going. The trip I've been dreaming about for years. The day is coming really soon. Not much to pack, the space is way too limited.  It's a one way joirney and I understand what it means. No going back. It doesn't bother me. I am ready. I have been ready for a long time. The inevitable trip I was going to make. It's too exciting to have time to look back. Things ahead eclipse anything in the past lowering memories in a soft shadowy cloud to unpack later and cherish. Just to think of it. The whole planet is in front of you. That's an ultimate frontier experience.  It doesn't feel like leaving at all, not at the moment at least. It feels more like coming back after a prolonged break, a newly discovered old house that needs some fixing and sorting to be whole and livable once again. I want to see it happening, use my bare hands building something new from scratch.  Will I miss things I'll have to leave behind? Of co...

Я опять ускользаю от сна Мне все также снится весна Спрятав тонкие крылья под крышей Воздух тихо колышется, дышит Пальцы в клавишах ищут покой Отдыхая над каждой строкой Спотыкаясь о камни дня Я ищу в отражении Меня     Nov 29, 2010 

Rolling away in d rops of rain Rustle of leaves is more pronounced Scarlet flames are slowly dying  Leaving traces here and there Skies are fading behind clouds

How come the stories written decades ago came to haunt us in real life? They used to be just that - stories, someone's reality interspersed with figments of imagination. They lured and frightened at the same time, shocked and disturbed. But being a mix of the reality and fiction it created a safe distance. There was never any serious danger to be completely immersed in its intricate web, not being able to break free. It was fascinating and exhilarating to stand on the edge and look down at the abyss all the way knowing you will never fall.  Simpler days... When the world came suddenly crashing down one afternoon the mind was to busy processing the damage of an ongoing drama, questioning the survival itself.  The sequence of days and hours running on parallel lines, braking the framework of what used to be a familiar reality.  How could have they known what was about to happen years into the future? How was it possible to soak up all the pain to draw the pic...