recycled

"...we become not a melting pot but a beautiful mosaic. different people, different beliefs, different yearnings, different hopes, different dreams."
- jimmy carter (1924 - ) 39th u.s. president

for this week's theme thursday: a sidewalk that used to be a complete set of colourful china..

how sweet to be

"up there!" he gestured.
"that looks like YOUR kind of cloud!"
and it was. it splayed its obstinate way above the amstel, and i, agreeable and easy from the deliciousness and the confidences and the perfect hospitality, clicked and attempted to capture.

out of reach, out of cry

pentacost sunday, bergen aan zee. it was perfect "beach weather": the afternoon storm had subsided, but the damp and the drizzle kept the crowds to a minimum, and most of the adventurous were walkers instead of sun-worshippers. the usual
seashore paraphernalia was present and accounted for, albeit glistening in the rain, and largely ignored. stretched along a mile of coast were poems-on-poles, each singing an ode to the expanse of water washing coldly onto the sand at our feet.
by the time the sun broke through, we were sipping chilled wine on a beach pavilion, and, before threading our way back through the verses, we watched hundreds of holidaymakers swarm hopefully over the dunes to the waiting waves.

some other day

they have been together for a long time: they have even begun to look alike.
and although they pride themselves on a resolute independence, they constantly, unconsciously, seek each other's familiar touch, just as they respond, unaware, in unison to life's whims and wonders.
they stand now, toes curled, at the water's edge, feeling slightly superfluous in the aftermath of the june downpour. but the clouds still reel darkly overhead; and appreciation is a mere deluge away.

in a teacup

i have this little story, aching to be shared: a story of long ago, of strangers in the night, of thunder, of lightning. and i have not a single image to accompany it. usually, usually, there's a picture in my collection that pleases me, and inspires me, and i compose a story that tallies. in this case, i cross my fingers constantly for a photogenic storm, a tempest of stature, so that i can couple the words and the illustration.
THIS isn't it. it's too clearly amsterdam. but i am patient.
the tale, as tiny as it is, will be told one day.

with baited breath

spring has been lengthy and dubious; the optimistic patience of the gardener has been sorely tried. and, although the packaging* promises exuberant colour, reality - like all dreams and schemes - can become an entirely different barrel of blooms.
*photo friday

awry

there are undoubtedly people who see nothing wrong* at all with the decision of the city of amsterdam to dig up the whole city for a new metro line.
there are undoubtedly people who find it so important to get from point a to point b in a minimum of minutes that the maximum of litter and antisocial behavior typical of the underground becomes acceptable - not to mention a stuffy journey with no view at all.
whatever. i'm not one of them.
my heart breaks at what the endless construction work is doing to the stately heart of amsterdam : at the sight of endless bulldozers along the rokin, for instance, where trees used to flourish and the canal used to entice, or along the vijzelstraat, which has become a veritable obstacle course.
i'll opt for the tram anyday. at least this most beautiful of cities can be admired enroute.
the signs announce: "will be completed in 2011".
EIGHT years.
i'll be completely grey.
*theme thursday

chance encounter

summer holidays are just around the corner...at least for some people.
lucky sue and her family are off to italy soon, but i will have to discover mediterranean charm in unexpected corners of amsterdam for the time being.
i do have "the international photographic scavenger hunt" to look forward to, though: a distraction can be as good as a break.

tossing and turning

he is etched in indigo.
dragons breathe fire over his collarbones. scaly serpents encircle his arms and legs. fantastic landscapes unfold along the ridges of his abdomen. the names of paramours and ports-of-call suggest a tale that would take weeks to tell.
the little girl behind him in the check-out line clutches her carton of milk, and her coins, mesmerised.
he catches her eye.
"amazing, isn't it?" he smiles, "it was a total surprise."
"when i woke up this morning," he continues pleasantly, "poof! - imagine! - i had been transformed!"
her eyes widen. she doesn't respond.
but how well will she sleep tonight?

hop skip jump

and we sat in the square, with our rosé and our secrets, and watched the clouds perform olympian feats: hurdling all obstacles and racing the sun.