[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
Sunday, December 8, 2024
Sunday, December 26, 2021
Sunday, December 19, 2021
Wednesday, December 15, 2021
Monday, December 13, 2021
Sunday, December 12, 2021
Thursday, December 9, 2021
Wednesday, December 8, 2021
Saturday, December 4, 2021
Fractals
Thursday, December 2, 2021
Sunday, March 21, 2021
Tuesday, February 2, 2021
Saturday, January 2, 2021
Breaking the ice
In my original plans, I wanted to take a ride on the very first day of the year. Alas, in the moment of picking my bike out of the cellar, I discovered having a flat tyre, punched by one of those minuscule stones which are spread over the roads in this season of the year, to prevent dangerous slips. I have my reasons to doubt about the usefulness of such initiative on bicycle lanes, but I just can't complain. So I spent the sunny morning of the first day of this year down in the cellar, doing maintenance to my gears.
This morning, albeit the sky was not promising anything good, I decided to go. I put on my scuba-like cycling suit, enough reflective clothing, double thermal socks and went off to get frozen.
It is a pleasant suffering. Climbing along a country road that goes up between two fields of snow, in total silence and the very smell of the snow repay any pain inflicted by the cold.
























