hiding moon..and the breeze..

The moon, spying behind trees, watches how autumnal breeze takes twigs and leaves…

Some rational people, belonging to the club “Autumns’ rejecters”, say that it is only a swimming pool, with leaves at its bottom and floating at surface, with some tree’s reflections at a cloudy day....
But I truly disapprove that idea..

no matter how..

A stop, at this thick stony wall, among the ruins of Agrigento, Sicilia..
I was tired for a while, but ready now to go on ...the sea, the light as a burning candle, are waiting for me.. I'll cross to other lands.. other seas.. other wonders...
No matter how much it will take... no matter when will I arrive...
I shake my wings, still wet of the storm... and fly...

four worlds..

A world in a drop..
Four worlds at a universe..
Millions of universes just dancing at this wonderful earth..
ready to invite us to dance with them..

to draw the world..

A bell at an arch, at Palamidi fortress ..the city of Napflios down.. far, an island with Bourtzi castle.. Agamemnon kingdom, at Peloponessus..
The eye’s effort to capture all, to feel all.. to draw the world..
And it came to my mind some words by the great argentine writer.. Jorge Luis Borges..
“A man sets out to draw the world. As the years go by, he peoples a space with images of provinces, kingdoms, mountains, bays, ships, islands, fishes, rooms, instruments, stars, horses, and individuals. A short time before he dies, he discovers that the patient labyrinth of lines traces the lineaments of his own face.”

unique and special..

I was walking among the rocks, and suddenly I saw them... many colourful stones, brightening happily under the sun, inside the tide's waters...
They dazzled me... I took one... I stole one! and slid it in my pocket...

Now I am watching it, and it is just a simple stone, not much different from million others...
But it IS special!

about this world ..and beyond.

I was walking under the warm sun, looking for a piece of shadow to can have a rest, when suddenly I saw him..
The man was there, sitting on a thick wall, and watching far away..
I didn't know his age, I didn't know where had he come from (the place was full of tourists)
I liked the image.. the architecture, his attitude.. and I shot.
But when i came near, I saw his eyes... his face..
He looked like a statue.. unable to go anywhere.. and i tried to pervade his hard skin.. and i tried to read his stony soul...
Nothing...
I went on walking.. wondering about this crazy world.. and beyond...

because...

Because we may be some times fragile as a feather, taken by the breeze..
but because we can also be strong enough to float at any conditions, without sinking..

a feather to fly free,
a feather to float strong..

alone...
mighty..

how many?

"Two souls" or "three souls" to add as a title?..

Or maybe four as I made the capture...

Or maybe five as you are watching it…

behind rusty curtains..

Between rusty closed curtains, i saw him..dirty glasses were almost hiding his face..
I pretended i was watching my camera, but with its screen rotated, i captured him fast and went on my walk..
When i saw him first, he was looking at other side but when opening the image at home... i saw his eyes, watching at me.
I read them...

I went back the following day, to offer him the only things i was able to: a smile.. a word, maybe..
But the old shop was empty.

leaves heard..

"..but memory is an autumn leaf that murmurs in the wind and then is heard no more...." words of K Gibran..
Here, at the old hospital at Arles, these leaves will always be heard... they keep the memory, the soul of the one who painted this same place in all beauty, with all feelings: Vincent Van Gogh..

image&text ©silvia marmori

just for a woman's love..

A tango poet, Homero Expósito, wrote once some verses about a woman that had left him, at the tango : Flor de Lino

Flax's flower, I see you in the star
that illuminates the track
of my solitude...
absence flower, your memory
always hunts me
through my eternal longing's night.

Many centuries before, and with the same pain at his heart, a man arrived at this place I shot, when these stones and walls were a palace.. he begged his brother reigning here to help him to have again his wife, kidnapped by a shepherd/ prince..
I don't know which words he used, but he was convincing... an army departed.. thousand of men fought for ten years a terrible war.. gods flying and blood spreading over far fields overseas.. finally, he recovered her..

So, this image, taken at Mycenae, Greece is for Agamemnon, the understanding brother... Menelao, the sad husband.. the two Homer, the tango poet and the epic genius.. for the one, whose name wasnt flax's flower, but Helena.. and for the souls of all soldiers and warriors from both sides dead at Troy, following a crazy adventure , just for a woman's love..

image and text © silvia marmori

a dream..

Life had been hard..
Many times he had asked himself why? How?… there had been no answers.

The worst part of the day was in the mornings, when he woke and realized that nothing had changed. Same routine.. walking along the dirty streets, looking for food in garbage cans, avoiding the police and other homeless, who would attack him heartlessly.

That night he had decided it would be the last. His hopes had been lost in some dark alley, maybe on a cold day, many winters ago.
He took his bag and the shabby cover, the only things that he owned, and went to the same place where he had been sleeping for a month.
It was a stinking backstreet, but at least empty of other souls.
He smoked until he scorched his fingers with the last butt he had and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he would go to the bridge and he would end it all.

However, in the middle of the night, he stood up as if demented. A big noise and many shouts.. but he saw nobody and the racket went on.
He took his things and ran away.. the last night had to be calm, calm as the brown waters of the river he would face in few hours…
Suddenly , his scampering stopped at a small lake he had never seen in the west of the city.. a park.. a small sanctuary…

He laid down there, but he couldn’t sleep… the fresh air, the trees moaned in the dark.. how was it possible that he had never been there before!
After the birds woke him as they began to announce that the sun was rising, when the dark faded and the green pervaded his senses and soul, he decided to delay for a few more minutes.. the river would be always there, waiting for him.

How beautiful was that place! He breathed deep, he perceived his blood warming his body. Small leaves brought by the soft breeze danced at his feet.. he took one.. how nice it felt!
Nature affected him.. made him remember his childhood, his youth. He had been happy once....what had happened to his dreams of before, to his ideals .. to his strong will!

But suddenly all became dark… he heard voices, a foul air suffocated him. When he opened his eyes he was still at the same place where he had slept all of the last few weeks.. he longed to cry and he did.
Leaving his things, he ran to the bridge.. he stood there, looking at the dark waters, ready to jump..

A fragile small leaf flew from his hand to the river…

He sighed.. wiped his tears and tried a weak smile.

text &image© silvia marmori