I’m out and about this week guys, exploring and wandering around a new city. Until I’m back and can tell you all about it, enjoy a little ode to March from master wordsmith Mr. Neruda.
‘March days return with their covert light’
March days return with their covert light,
and huge fish swim through the sky,
vague earthly vapours progress in secret,
things slip to silence one by one.
Through fortuity, at this crisis of errant skies,
you reunite the lives of the sea to that of fire,
grey lurchings of the ship of winter
to the form that love carved in the guitar.
O love, O rose soaked by mermaids and spume,
dancing flame that climbs the invisible stairway,
to waken the blood in insomnia’s labyrinth,
so that the waves can complete themselves in the sky,
the sea forget its cargoes and rages,
and the world fall into darkness’s nets.
I’m out and about this week guys, exploring and wandering around a new city. Until I’m back and can tell you all about it, enjoy the petit posts.
“Is there anything, apart from receiving a large unexpected cheque in the post, to beat finding yourself at large in a foreign city on a fair spring evening, loafing along unfamiliar streets in the long shadows of a lazy sunset, pausing to gaze in shop windows or at some church or lovely square or tranquil stretch of quayside, hesitating at street corners to decide whether that cheerful and homy restaurant you will remember fondly for years is likely to lie down this street or that one? I just love it. I could spend my life arriving each evening in a new city.”
“Sunshine is delicious, rain is refreshing, wind braces us up, snow is exhilarating; there is really no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather. ”
– John Ruskin
Trainside Poetry: “I believe in the rule of opposites…”
The Good Mod
Inside the Japanese Gardens
And then, the rain
One of the many reasons why Powell’s Books was top-notch
Sun peeks through
Relative to everywhere
I never thought a city could make me fall in love with the rain. I had always been ambivalent to its indecisiveness, halfway between a clear sky and a snowstorm. But the people of Portland welcome every drop. Instead of rushing inside when the leaking starts, they continue about their days, aptly pointing out that yes, “it’s just water.”