Tag: mist

Lightly Child, Lightly.

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Can you not sometimes feel how all pasts
grow light, when you’ve lived a while,
how they gently prepare you for amazement,
companion each feeling with images,—

— Rainer Maria Rilke, from “The Singer Sings Before a Child of Princes,” The Book of Images, Trans. Edward Snow.

Notes:

  • Photo: DK @ Daybreak, 6:08 a.m., 35° F. March 26, 2021. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT.
  • Poem Source: Thank you The Vale of Soul-Making
  • Post Title & Inspiration: Aldous Huxley: “It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.”

Saturday Morning

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Daybreak. December 5, 2020. 7:30 am. 41° F.  Heavy Rain. Cove Island Park, Stamford CT

Saturday Morning

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Notes:

  • Photo: DK: Daybreak. Foggy Morning. 6:11, 6:18 & 6:22 am. July 18, 2020. 72° F. Humidity 81%. Wind: 4 mph. Gusts: 8 mph. Cloud Cover: 43%. Weed Avenue, Stamford, CT
  • Inspired by: “All that’s required is to pull out our ear buds and turn off our camera phones and listen to the sounds, pleasant and troubling alike, that the universe provides, including most especially its silence.” —  Fenton Johnson, At the Center of All Beauty: Solitude and the Creative Life (W. W. Norton & Company, March 10, 2020)

Saturday Morning

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And come the dawn,
how slow and easy the Sun-beams
Long legs of a great crab,
move through the sea of mist.

~ Takarai Kikaku (1661-1707), Haiku in Mad in Translation by Robin D. Gill

Photo: 6:06 am. 60° F. Low tide. Weed Ave Stamford, CT.

Walking Cross Town. With Ooga-Chaka Ooga-Ooga.

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She asks: Why do you post what you post on your blog? I had to stop, and pause for a moment.

Well, it’s Morris Berman’s “tipoff…whenever a project comes to me, one that is right, that is genuine, I feel a kind of ‘shiver’ in my body, and that tells me that it corresponds to something very deep in me, and that I need to pursue it.”

And for me, that never-fail-catalyst, is misty rain.

I’m walking cross town. Tuesday morning.

Riffs of Sally Rooney’s new book Normal People flash by…I’m transported to place I’ve never been, but I’m walking, in Dublin, on cobblestone streets. “Dublin is extraordinarily beautiful to her in wet weather, the way gray stone darkens to black, and rain moves over the grass and whispers on slick roof tiles. Raincoats glistening in the undersea color of street lamps. Rain silver as loose change in the glare of traffic.”

I cross Madison. And it begins. Continue reading “Walking Cross Town. With Ooga-Chaka Ooga-Ooga.” →