Summer

Jean-Daniel-Lorieux


Notes: Photograph shot by Jean-Daniel Lorieux in Djerba, an island off the coast of Tunisia which is known for Mediterranean beaches and whitewashed desert towns. Find more of his photos on his Facebook page.   (Source: This Isn’t Happiness)

 

Saturday Morning

wind-breeze-meadow

We have forgotten the virtue of sitting, watching observing. Nothing much happens. This is the way of nature. We breathe together, simply this. For long periods of time, the meadow is still. We watch. We wait. We wonder. Our eyes find a resting place. And then, the slightest of breezes moves the grass. It can be heard as a whisper of prayer.

— Terry Tempest Williams, Finding Beauty in a Broken World

 


Notes: Quote: Thank you Beth @ Alive on all channels. Photo: Clemens Fantur

Lightly child, lightly

legs-light-color-bare-feet

And now an inaudible breeze, a mist, a silence, a kiss almost,
gathers them together,
erases them, caresses them, and very gently mends them.
Now they are as they are.
Now they can be recognized.

~ Vicente Aleixandre, from “The Class,” A Longing for the Light


Notes:

  • Vicente Pío Marcelino Cirilo Aleixandre y Merlo (1898 – 1984) was a Spanish poet who received the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1977 “for a creative poetic writing which illuminates man’s condition in the cosmos and in present-day society.”
  • Image Source: mennyfox55. Poem Source: the distance between two doors
  • Prior “Lightly child, lightly” Posts? Connect here.
  • 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.”

Lightly child, lightly. (Reply? Yes!)

chest-bird-portrait

Sometimes, when a bird cries out,
Or the wind sweeps through a tree,
Or a dog howls in a far off farm,
I hold still and listen a long time.

My soul turns and goes back to the place
Where, a thousand forgotten years ago,
The bird and the blowing wind
Were like me, and were my brothers.

My soul turns into a tree,
And an animal, and a cloud bank.
Then changed and odd it comes home
And asks me questions. How should I reply?

~ Herman Hesse, “Sometimes” (translated by Robert Bly)


Notes:

  • Poem: Schonwieder. Photo:Laura Makabresku with Birds (via Hidden Sanctuary)
  • Prior “Lightly child, lightly” Posts? Connect here.
  • 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.”

And, Autumn. And, Saturday Mornings. WORD.

fall-autumn

[…]
Rumi said,
There is no proof of the soul.
But isn’t the return of spring
and how it springs up in our hearts
a pretty good hint?
[…]

~ Mary Oliver, Whistling Swans. Felicity: Poems


Only the Winds


Ólafur Arnalds, 28, is a multi-instrumentalist and producer from Mosfellsbær, Iceland. Ólafur Arnalds mixes strings and piano with loops and edgy beats crossing-over from ambient/electronic to pop.

  • His official web site can be found here.
  • This song can be found on iTunes on his 2013 Album titled For Now I Am Winter

Related Posts: Olafur Arnaulds

Saturday Morning

cross-black-and-white-dress-portrait

I come into this small room and take a seat on the floor.
I don’t expect miracles.
But I have given myself a sacred space,
and now I simply offer myself the even greater gift of time to use it.
Someday, perhaps, something will happen here.
For now, I love this room,
this emptiness, the fading light, my own quiet company.
I am learning, by sitting, to become,
in the words of Terry Tempest Williams,
“a caretaker of silence, a connoisseur of stillness, a listener of wind.”

~ Katrina Kenison, Magical Journey: An Apprenticeship in Contentment 


Notes:

What are these words worth?

September, October,

What are these words worth?
Who else would believe
these trees &
this sun &
this Aeolian gust?
Amen again.

~ Nate Pritts, “Feelings, Associated,” Right Now More Than Ever: Poems


Credits: Poem – the distance between two doors. Photo: We Heart It.  Bio/website: Natt Pritts

Saturday Morning

wind-hair-sunrise

Outdoors,
anywhere in wind.
[…]
What is it that I want? Not money,
Not a large desk, not a house with ten rooms.
This is what I want to do: to sit here,
To take no part, to be called away by wind…

~ Robert Bly, “The Call Away,” Like the New Moon, I Will Live My Life


Notes: Poem Source – The Distance Between Two Doors. Photo – Come as you are

Saturday (September)


“It was September.  In the last days when things are getting sad for no reason.  The beach was so long and lonely with only about six people on it.  The kids quit bouncing the ball because somehow the wind made them sad, too, whistling the way it did, and the kids sat down and felt autumn come along the endless shore.

All of the hot-dog stands were boarded up with strips of golden planking, sealing in all the mustard, onion, meat odors of the long, joyful summer.  It was like nailing summer into a series of coffins.  One by one the places slammed their covers down, padlocked their doors, and the wind came and touched the sand, blowing away all of the million footprints of July and August.  It got so that now, in September, there was nothing but the mark of my rubber tennis shoes and Donald and Delaus Arnold’s feet, down by the water curve.

Sand blew up in curtains on the sidewalks, and the merry-go-round was hidden with canvas, all of the horses frozen in mid-air on their brass poles, showing teeth, galloping on.  With only the wind for music, slipping through canvas. […]

I ran.  Sand spun under me and the wind lifted me.  You know how it is, running, arms out so you feel veils from your fingers, caused by wind.  Like wings.

~ Ray Bradbury, The Lake


Notes:

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