Last year film

... or spring before spring

Mariana in three portaits

End of summer

In the beginning of time, there rose from the churning of God's dream two women. One is the dancer at the court of paradise, the desired of men, she who laughs and plucks the minds of the wise from their cold meditations and of fools from their emptiness; and scatters them like seeds with careless hands in the extravagant winds of March, in the flowering frenzy of May.
The other is the crowned queen of heaven, the mother, throned on the fullness of golden autumn; she who in the harvest-time brings straying hearts to the smile sweet as tears, the beauty deep as the sea of silence, -brings them to the temple of the Unknown,at the holy confluence of Life and Death.

Rabindranath Tagore

Seabirds

Some doors should remain open

If some wanderer, leaving home, come here to watch the night and with bowed head listen to the murmur of the darkness, who is there to whisper the secrets of life into his ears if I, shutting my doors, should try to free myself from mortal bonds?
It is a trifle that my hair is turning grey. I am ever as young or as old as the youngest and the oldest of this village. Some have smiles, sweet and simple, and some a sly twinkle in their eyes. Some have tears that well up in the daylight, and others tears that are hidden in the gloom. They all have need for me, and I have no time to brood over the afterlife. I am of an age with each, what matter if my hair turns grey?

Rabindranath Tagore

End of May

The last picture I've taken in the end of May, I am in the gap again forgotten by the muse. I thought moving to new place and the summer would bring some inspiration and ideas, but it didn't happen exactly that way.  Anyway hopefully soon there will be something new to show.

Foxe in her room

Long time no shooting, I already miss carrying my camera around and looking through it. Hopefully soon I will have the chance to do so. Meanwhile something old from the first days of January. 

Disillusioned

Try to make ends meet

Two from last year

Corners

Something messy with a hand

Paper boats

Day by day I float my paper boats one by one down the running stream.

In big black letters I write my name on them and the name of the village where I live.

I hope that someone in some strange land will find them and know who I am.

I load my little boats with shiuli flowers from our garden, and hope that these blooms of the dawn will be carried safely to land in the night.

I launch my paper boats and look up into the sky and see the little clouds setting their white bulging sails.

I know not what playmate of mine in the sky sends them down the air to race with my boats!

When night comes I bury my face in my arms and dream that my paper boats float on and on under the midnight stars.

The fairies of sleep are sailing in them, and the lading is their baskets full of dreams.

Rabindranath Tagore

Spiderwebs

We sometimes make
spiderwebs of smoke and saliva, fragile
thought-packets. Leave thinking to the one
who gave intelligence. Stop weaving,
and watch how the pattern improves.
Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Balkhī

Map