Hello, sailors! Another post
soils the lines of code to this page after a delayed blowback. Certainly, I find myself in front of a fertile period ... But that's not what I want to talk.
As we have seen all, days of rain last week we were very tired and multitudes of Varese and Varese were raised against the weather, making the mother of all the evils of politics and after the birth of Man. But really all the bad weather comes to harm? The rain is just an evil demon who occasionally wakes up and becomes a monster? It 's a waste of time? An annoying accent on our days of boring routine?
Personally, in these pages but I can express my appreciation for the rain. A mad?, You ask you. Maybe. If being crazy today means more to appreciate how small, beautiful and hidden there in our troubled hours, then yes, I want to be crazy!
Few appreciate that brings rain. Few people know how beautiful it becomes out our forested landscape ticking when the veil drops falling from the sky. And even fewer people know how to appreciate the poetry of rainy days. The views do not become like oil paintings when it rains? The colors do not assume vivid and brilliant shades? And the air is filled with different scents, clean from the rain like a giant fume scrubber? And how many of you can appreciate the raindrops roll on the face and hair?
today for all the rain is just one of many bad things, boring and irritating that life and nature we oppose our dreams and our illusions. Only one of the most negative. Maybe we should learn to look beyond what we offer and having to dig deep into reality and in us.
In days gone by could not miss the inspired in some ways, that I propose here as usual. To you the thoughts.
RAIN, PIECES OF THOUGHTS
Eye of the black opal,
wet feather germs in the wind.
on pale birch sits
the blackbird early.
Thin Rain falls like tears polished
and I lost in my thoughts,
to the commitments that go with the time I got it.
Melancholy and joy to the image areas of the horizons,
sweat and salt on the way to bring them all,
tears like rain on the way
that keeps pace with its fall.
Yet there is certainty about one thing:
to have at least tried to walk the path
a path of high
from boredom, tomb daily habits tight.
Now I dare to dream
to reach the goal:
beauty which have come on top of the summit!
What is the life of man, born to rise,
if only fugitive in the hours of unnecessary ballast weights it can find?
Rain rolls on the darkened glass.
trees and grass of emerald crowned
as oil paint and brush landscape,
forests of rare beauty and dark mystery.
Malignant lady is the mind,
mirror polished ambitions.
opens up your flying hours and let go,
full,
to wet face and feet in the clear waters of the sky.
And accompany me to find old friends from the past,
broken dreams of a child
to play in the puddles of a day away.
And hand to accompany me tomorrow
following the path I have chosen for me,
sweet and just as tough as the streets wet with rain and dreams can be.
Varese, May 15, 2010
Hoo-ha!
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