Pausenloser Regen. Grau. Dunkel.
Trägheit. Schwermut. Nachdenklichkeit.
Und ich möchte es keinen Deut anders haben.
Alles hat seinen Platz, schon längst
ob ich dafür bin oder dagegen.
Jetzt lese ich etwas Fröhliches
muss lachen und mag das genauso.
Wo ist der Unterschied?
Ist da wirklich einer?
„Amore = distanza“ (auf einem Schild in der „L’Osteria“ zu Corona-Zeiten)
Ti amo, distanza, nicht nur in Corona-Zeiten.
What beauty there is in the process of dying. When I picked this perennial pea to put it in a vase at home, the pink petals immediately transformed into an amazing green-greyish color. Then the color left, leaving only traces of pink and purple and blue.
Now I want to have this blue tea :).
Thank you, new era. You are so
wonderful, in many ways.
춮
pentagons don’t tesselate
that title, by the way, will be the name of my band if i ever form one. we tried to fit these okra slices into a pattern like a honeycomb or a soccer ball, but discovered, and later confirmed online, that pentagons don’t fit together like that. they don’t tesselate. on the other hand, just look at them. little pockets of lacework. who cares if they don’t tesselate. just let them be their beautiful selves.
okra
(Text below a picture of okra slices, on today’s www.stillblog.net)
Oh, yeah. Either way, one fits, into the pattern of life.