snow has almost melted
the sun is out
stone and wood
and light
the morning's cold breath
the music
eyes travel
behind the hills
beneath the wells


we like Tim Buckley's music a lot in the house, especially my little bird.
We can leave the cat out, though


going to school

every day that goes by I go older.

This note makes me feel almost like


i may stroll through heavy snow

bearing the silent torture

of the human load


our day full of whites and browns and at some point some greens

perhaps for the first time in my life i realize
i have to respect and rely my well-being on
everything and everybody else but myself.
And for the first time in my life
my glassy solitariness is probably broken.

the fruits in the kitchen are shining
and sweet
singing to me what's not real

I am

ps. even in this fictional non-place



it is miracle to see
new leaves growing out of your thought-to-be dried out little plant!

this is not the place nor the time to talk about such things;
to wish
for my country
come alive again
no matter how doomed and small

what shameful end for this country's long and great history
would be
the total extinction in those incapable hands

but i am telling you there are seeds
in this heart of land


it has begun

maybe you listen to the same music


today is one of those seemingly infinite days that do not last for long
one of the days you feel there is nothing you would mind doing
even the most trivial chores of the house could make you happy
Sunlight penetrates all just like cold does
and you are finally awakened
in the middle of December
with all the storms awaiting to burst over the land you inhabit
but you do not get discouraged
you enjoy this moment's peace with an accurate perspective over the plain.


little signs here and there
small arrangements before Christmas
I like them this way, not being pompous
or too celebratory


it's our first real night in winter


cold winter morning

first monday of December
I heard it's going to be snowing during the weekend
no sign of white yet.