Tuesday, 27 March 2012

the first days of spring

In the first days of Spring, I make a bouquet of flowers for a friend. Take a broad brush, mix inks and water; strokes of blended color mingle on paper.


In these first days, I take many trains and, despite suitcase carrying and workshop running, cannot resist pausing to stop for just a while, just a little while, a tiny perfect while, to photograph pink cherry blossom. Endless blooms drip from winter branches. Trees yawn against an aquamarine sky. I dream, fall into the beauty.


 In the first days of Spring, I wash in hotel bathrooms, admire green tiles and consider how water unpeels travelling days. 


In these days, I wonder about the necessity of play, a need to spin in serendipity. I weigh possibilities and measure the spring, which seems to be disguised as summer. Breathing through change as seasons unfurl, the earth turns as I walk on.


Marjojo said...

So good to pop in here, have missed reading your posts, so recognizable in their slow unfolding melancholy crispness. Baking of bread, train journeys, moments with your girls, reading (I’ve got a book by Isaac Bashevis Singer next to my bed, which I want to reread, The Family Moskat). Making everything count. You seem to do so much, finishing your manuscript, working, tending to the family, and yet have this gift for stillness, for attending to the moment, which you share with us. And now you give us images too, in the same spirit – they go so well with your writing.

Marjojo said...

PS. Re: cherry blossom. Saw an exhibition at the Imperial War Museum a while ago, Ori Gerscht’s 'This Storm Is What We Call Progress'. Very moving. Part of it was a series of photographs of cherry blossom in Japan, taken in the dark of night near Hiroshima and near the Imperial Palace. The camera had a hard time picking up details, the background is black, and the cherry blossoms struggle towards white and pink toned graininess. Very beautiful in strange ways (found myself questioning what the word beauty can mean in this context). Haunting.

lasuza said...

Thanks Marion for dropping in and writing your comments. Always so lovely to read your words, share your thoughts. I love your description, slow, unfolding, melancholy, crispness. I have been thinking of Bion so often since our epic email exchange, was it before Christmas? I am haunted by thoughts about what we process and avoid in our dreams. I loved your post about the boy who has no past yet because he is a child. You wrote to me about this I must answer you. Is their a link between past and dreams? All these thoughts mingle in my mind tonight.