Things of Life

Cateodata gasesti poezii in cele mai neasteptate locuri. O spălătorie auto. Treceam zilnic pe lângă ea, și-mi săreau in ochi florile cu petale volănate, crețe, si lavetele in culori atent alese (parca), la uscat in cârlige de rufe pe o sarma, ca desuurile pastelate dintr-o pictura de gen. Si niște copăcei manichiurati. As fi zis ca oamenii aia au făcut un colț cochet lângă unul de obicei murdar, ca să-și mai clătească ochii, si sufletul, poate... Si tot aranjamentul îmi aducea aminte de cișmelele din copilărie, de pe la diferite case, de peste garduri, unde oamenii își făceau treburile, si era un anumit puls acolo, o culoare... La cișmea, unde creșteau copiii, cu fiecare izmana ce devenea din ce in ce mai mica, mai ruptă, mai peticita, cu fiecare zgaiba spălată afara, vara... Tot ziceam sa mă opresc sa fac o poza, dar lavetele nu erau mereu acolo. Nu am putut sa mai aștept si pentru ele, ca se treceau florile. Am parcat strategic, cu riscul de a trezi priviri suspicioase. Țac, si plec....

When I was very young, I learned the skills of walking on eggshells. I got them from my mom, for sure, because she was a master of such craft. I practiced them for a while, and was quite good at. They required steady concentration that would drain me at times. Then, due to change of terrain, I ceased to exercise them.  So, once known by heart, they were almost forgotten... But I've grown lighter and lighter, so they are not needed anyway, nor missed...

My style... to saunter... here, there, to absorb the essence of things seen... If so, thoughts are arranging themselves like books in a bookshelf, on categories. An internal order develops, and there, there, in that breathing space I have created, I can sense, perhaps, some scattered seeds, and concentrate on the unseen...

Flowers in bloom, and waaay too hot already... The woman with blue fan is looking at the man across, and entertains secret desires.  She hides her gaze behind her fluttering fan. She has love, but can she want  something she already has...? She wants something she does not have...  Love and desire normally meet, she knows; but things may shift in time.  Desire   gets blended in love, and may eventually melt and be forgotten...  Unlike love, it's fugitive like the flutter of her fan.  It's hardly contained, and often enticed by otherness...

In viața, trăirile sunt manifestări firave ce te năucesc puțin. N-ar parea firave in momentul lor, dar sunt. Când se întâmplă, te ridica de pe solul plat si prăfuit al existenței, dar vin si cu o frustrare muta, ca sunt prea trecatoare si nestatornice, si nu sunt capabile de atâta transformare. Coborându-te, ai ceva senzație de gol.  Faptele insa, deși nu au șarmul unei trăiri, si uneori stângace, te marchează altfel. Sunt ca un stâlp ce se infige la un moment dat in drumul tău, poate ți-l si schimba, te ghidează, te modelează.  Trăirile si faptele se întâlnesc uneori pe drum, se țin de mana, se îmbrățișează, alteori merg separat... 

I was doing my regular evening walk in the neighborhood, when three boys on scooters turned a corner and were passing by like a storm. All of a sudden, one of them, about my son's age, deviated from his path and came straight to me as if he knew me for years. An all smiling face with freckled cheeks, curly bangs, and glasses, asking exuberantly for hi 5...  Oookaay... hi 5 ✋... alright... dude... Then he rejoined his group and gone he was. I had an urge to look in the mirror after he treated me like one of his... Heart of a kid... Not being afraid to interact with strangers. Refreshingly human, natural, normal... He reactivated something in me I may have forgotten, and I was a kid too, as if just going in the street to have fun with my buddies. And it was wonderful! Especially since these days there is more talk about Resurrection...