[Poetry] may make us from time to time a little aware of the deeper unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves. T.S.Eliot
Monday, November 30, 2020
Sunday, November 29, 2020
Monday, November 23, 2020
Sunday, November 22, 2020
Saturday, November 21, 2020
Friday, November 20, 2020
Thursday, November 19, 2020
Out of the fog
Just behind the corner of the city northern gate, where the river Mur slips through the steep sides of two opposite hills, the pillow of heavy fog that's sitting on the city center since few days vanishes. The light veil of haze that persists in the flat of the northern district paints a landscape with mysterious and imaginative views. I'm not doing the best of all my training sessions, today. I'm distracted by the scenery and stop from time to time for a snap.
Monday, November 16, 2020
Sunday, November 15, 2020
Tuesday, November 10, 2020
Initial Frost
I've got some thoughts about this picture but I'm not sure whether I'd better keep them for myself or not. I just feel that my thoughts are more and more often accumulating like trees cut down and left rotting in the undergrowth. I just keep putting off the moment when I'll write them down on, until exhausted I forget about them. A huge mass of rotten ideas lays on the ground, making up a fertile humus that never gives life. The incoming winter frost will keep everything safe under a lying ice sheet.