Mikko lag
They breathe mild the high firs
Enclosed in the snow mantle.
Softer and thick that white splendor
He’s got every branch, away.
The White streets get more quiet:
The rooms collected, more intense.
Chime the hours. It comes
Beaten every baby, shaking.
Over the wing, the crash of a ciocco
That in lightning and rockin, ruins.
In pale shine of sequins
The candid day out there increases,
It becomes everlasting, infinite.
—Rainer Maria Rilke
Friedensreich Hundertwasserption
Austrian artist Friedensreich Hundertwasser was an expressionist artist and architect who built many colourful and eye-catching buildings around Europe in the 1950s. He created the Hundertwasserhaus, one of Vienna’s most iconic landmarks, alongside architect Joseph Krawina.
Thanks to @lost.in.ldn for this amazing photo on Instagram.
And the last Hundertwasser designed building is being built in Whangarei, New Zealand, where he lived in the last years of his life. He designed the building but the money has only recently been raised to build it. It is a very exciting project which will house Maori art.
All windows are different and trees and plants grow freely without any pruning or cutting. Places are created to allow neighbours to meet and have a good time together.
I’m always astounded by the work that can be done, is done by artists. How beautiful our world would be if we could only unleash this passion in the ghettos, the slums, even just the tired and worn of our streets.
Castle Magic in Sandpoint, Idaho
And then there are those things which are lovely once there, but made heavy on the approach. I’m not sure there’s a name for the trip you dread that becomes a most favored memory when left behind. It’s the going to and coming from that can be so different. It certainly seems as if there should be a word for that. If not, one should be created. It could be said the yin-yang of it, but that doesn’t quite capture the essence of the matter. It’s a mood whiplash sort of thing. But whiplash is too abrupt a descriptor. Hummm. Something to ponder. In any case, I don’t want two words, just one to nicely cover the phenomenon.
Imagine not wanting to go on a trip through the snow and cold to come upon the castle sight at the end of your journey. To have ale and wood fires burning, warmth and magic. Or to quote The Bard: when journeys end in lovers meeting.
Snow. Snow snow. Snow snow snow… As with other words, repeated it becomes strange, a meaningless sound, a feel of tongue and teeth and lips. Words. Not the thing itself, not at all. Else we would stop each time some words are said, stop to feel the crystals melt on the tongue, face lifted to the sky, face brushed with kisses.
Walked in, played with, fallen into, more like a heaven of white and joy. The magical, the mystical, the miracle of timelessness.
in the stillness of the night…by barbara klonowo
Thank God the snow has at last begun, winter has at last appeared, our coats now matter, zippers pulled tight. And we can know we belong to this earth, this place where each portion of the year has earned our respect, our love, and often—our sweet surprise. The light upon the earth has begun.
Here’s to another year. My hope for all of us is that we may be protected from all harm, and kept safe from all danger.
Writers Ink—Writing and Stuff 