Gener al Camp de Tarragona

Això és com seria la llum del sol si tingués arrels...

Aquesta és pel meu Papa!

Celle-ci pour Damien... An almond tree! Yoohooo!!

Adolescencia

En el balcón, un instante
nos quedamos los dos solos.
Desde la dulce mañana
de aquel día éramos novios.

–El paisaje soñoliento
dormía sus vagos tonos,
bajo el cielo gris  y rosa
del crepúsculo de otoño–.

Le dije que iba a besarla;
bajó, serena, los ojos
y me ofreció sus mejillas
como quien pierde un tesoro.

–Caían las hojas muertas,
en el jardín silencioso,
y en el aire erraba aún
un perfume de heliotropos–.

No se atrevía a mirarme;
le dije que éramos novios,
…y las lágrimas rodaron
de sus ojos melancólicos.

Juan Ramón Jiménez

XX

Si culpa el concebir, nacer tormento,
guerra vivir, la muerte fin humano,
si después de hombre tierra y vil gusano,
y después de gusano polvo y viento;

si viento nada, y nada el fundamento,
flor la hermosura, la ambición tirano,
la fama y gloria pensamiento vano,
y vano, en cuanto piensa, el pensamiento;

quien anda en este mar para anegarse,
¿de qué sirve en quimeras consumirse,
ni pensar otra cosa que salvarse?

¿De qué sirve estimarse y preferirse,
buscar memoria, habiendo de olvidarse,
y edificar, habiendo de partirse?

Lope de Vega

Flor i bitxos

Consolez-vous

Consolez-vous: ce n'est pas de vous que vous devez l'attendre, mais au contraire, en n'attendant rien de vous, que vous devez l'attendre.

Consoleu-vos: no és de vosaltres de qui ho heu d'esperar; però al contrari, no esperant res de vosaltres, ho heu d'esperar.

Comfort yourselves. It is not from yourselves that you should expect it; but, on the contrary, it is in expecting nothing from yourselves that you must hope for it.

Blaise Pascal, 517

Cornish Haunts

Vora el barranc dels Algadins

Vora el barranc del Algadins
hi ha un taronger de tan dolç flaire
que, per a omplir d’aroma l’aire,
no té lo món millors jardins.
Allí hi ha un mas, i el mas té dins
volguts records de ma infantesa;
per ells jo tinc l’ànima presa
vora el barranc dels Algadins. 

Vora el barranc dels Algadins,
s’alcen al cel quatre palmeres;
lo vent batent ales lleugeres,
mou son plomall i els seus troncs fins.
En ells, milers de teuladins
fan un soroll que el cor enxica.
Qui oir pogués sa xiscladissa
vora el barranc dels Algadins! 

Vora el barranc dels Algadins,
l’aigua corrent los camps anega;
en sos espills lo sol llampega,
i trau l’arròs verdosos brins.
Sona el tic-tac en los molins;
i al caure el sol, caçadors destres,
a joca van d’ànecs silvestres,
vora el barranc dels Algadins.

Vora el barranc dels Algadins,
mourà les palmes l’aire;
li donaran los horts son flaire,
i sa cantúria els teuladins.
Lo mas, demà, guardarà dins
dolços records i imatges belles;
jo no podré gojar ja d’elles,
vora el barranc dels Algadins!

Teodor Llorente

The Flower

Once in a golden hour
  I cast to earth a seed.
Up there came a flower,
  The people said, a weed.

To and fro they went
  Thro' my garden-bower,
And muttering discontent
  Cursed me and my flower.

Then it grew so tall
  It wore a crown of light,
But thieves from o'er the wall
  Stole the seed by night.

Sow'd it far and wide
  By every town and tower,
Till all the people cried
  `Splendid is the flower.'

Read my little fable:
  He that runs may read.
Most can raise the flowers now,
  For all have got the seed.

And some are pretty enough,
  And some are poor indeed;
And now again the people
  Call it but a weed.

Alfred Lord Tennyson

Kit de reducción de estrés

Estrelleta's pictures

To see more, please visit Estrelleta's blog!

Illes Medes i nord de la Costa Brava

Un bombonet de trufa sense títol

El so de la música començava a amarar lentament l’estància a cel obert.

Cada nota regalimava per l’aire com petites gotes, com aquelles gotes que regalimen en el cristall d’una copa de vi en una nit fresca d’estiu. En una d’aquelles nits de festes glamuroses als patis de petits palaus o de grans casalots, propietat de tots aquells que no són capaços d’apreciar la senzillesa d’un bon so, d’un bon glop d’aire impregnat de música o d’un most amb regust de notes que expliquen senzills missatges, possessió de tots aquells qui, abduïts per l’elegància externa, ja no són capaços de comprendre l’essència del que és vertaderament distingit, en una nit qualsevol de totes elles, el cel seguia sent estrellat.

Anna Jané Rafecas

New Year Cheer

At the sound of the tolling midnight bell
a brand new year will begin.
Let's raise our hopes in a confidant toast,
to the promise it ushers in.

May your battles be few, your pleasure many,
your wishes and dreams fulfilled.
May your confidence stand in the face of loss
and give you the strength to rebuild.

May peace of heart fill all your days
may serenity grace your soul.
May tranquil moments bless your life
and keep your spirit whole.

Author Unknown

The Death of the Old Year

Full knee-deep lies the winter snow,
And the winter winds are wearily sighing;
Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow,
And tread softly and speak low,
For the old year lies a-dying.
Old year, you must not die;
You came to us so readily,
You lived with us so steadily,
Old year, you shall not die.

He lieth still, he doth not move;
He will not see the dawn of day.
He hath no other life above.
He gave me a friend, and a true true-love,
And the New-year will take ’em away.
Old year, you must not go;
So long as you have been with us,
Such joy as you have seen with us,
Old year, you shall not go.

He froth’d his bumpers to the brim;
A jollier year we shall not see.
But tho’ his eyes are waxing dim,
And tho’ his foes speak ill of him,
He was a friend to me.
Old year, you shall not die;
We did so laugh and cry with you,
I’ve half a mind to die with you,
Old year, if you must die.

He was full of joke and jest,
But all his merry quips are o’er.
To see him die, across the waste
His son and heir doth ride post-haste,
But he’ll be dead before.
Every one for his own.
The night is starry and cold, my friend,
And the New-year blithe and bold, my friend,
Comes up to take his own.

How hard he breathes! over the snow
I heard just now the crowing cock.
The shadows flicker to and fro;
The cricket chirps; the light burns low;
’Tis nearly twelve o’clock.
Shake hands, before you die.
Old year, we’ll dearly rue for you.
What is it we can do for you?
Speak out before you die.

His face is growing sharp and thin.
Alack! our friend is gone.
Close up his eyes; tie up his chin;
Step from the corpse, and let him in
That standeth there alone,
And waiteth at the door.
There’s a new foot on the floor, my friend,
And a new face at the door, my friend,
A new face at the door.

Alfred Lord Tennyson