Ghidușe brândușe…/ Crocus cuteness

 

“And when I fall in love,” I began,
„I will build a mountain to touch the sky.
Then, my lover and I will have the best of both worlds,
reality firmly under our feet, while we have
our heads in the clouds with all our illusions still intact.

And the purple grass will grow all around,
high enough to reach our eyes.”
― V.C. Andrews, Flowers in the Attic

 

Povestea pictează,
a petale pulsează,
primăvară, polen
și culoare
Cerul înșiră
adiere divină
pe cărări,
ca o sărbătoare

Ziua e alta,
iar gândul mă poartă
cu norii
spre zări de-amintire
Și umbrele-s crude,
secunda se-ascunde
în ochii
ce-ating a iubire

Pământul e reavăn,
a proaspăt adie
și pasul
și trecerea rece
E caldă privirea
și cald e oceanul
în valul
ce vine și trece

Vis mereu viu,
trepte de raze,
meandre de-atunci
și de-acum
Cuvinte aprinse
lăsate să ardă
eter, a cald
și parfum

 

The story keeps drawing,
in petals it’s throbbing,
of spring, of pollen
and colors
The skies go on sending
divine and unending,
on pathways,
miraculous hours

The days come anew,
and thoughts carry you
with clouds
to soft dawns high above,
the shadows are hiding,
the seconds are shining
in eyes
that shimmer with love

The earth smells of wetness,
all pulses with freshness
our steps
and the cuteness unfolding,
There’s warmth in the smile
and warmth in the waves
of oceans
expanding, withholding

A dream always true, 
like sun rays and dew,
meanders of snowflakes
and bloom,
Sweet words that are lit
and left to keep burning
of ether, of warmth
and perfume

 

Nicole

 

Deocamdată…/ For now

 

“It is spring again. The earth is like a child
that knows poems by heart.”
― Rainer Maria Rilke

 

Brândușele galbene de-acum o săptămână s-au deschis.
Descoperirea mea de mijloc de martie, norocoasă. Fără plimbare, pădure, prea departe… nu, doar mers agale, trotuar, gărduț… mică explozie de mănunchi de petale. Ca un surâs.

Îmi propusesem-promisesem să le prind și-nflorite. Și-n plin soare. Și-am reușit. 🙂 Zilele trecute străluceau… pumn de aur arzând ca rătăcit pe un mic pat de iarbă.

 

The cute yellow crocus buds a week ago have blossomed beautifully.
My mid March discovery, and lucky. No walk, woods, too far away… no, just a quiet stroll, pavement, little fence… small outburst of a bundle of petals.
Like a smile.

I promised myself  that I would try to catch them in bloom. In full sun, too. And indeed I did. 🙂 Two days ago they were shining… handful of golden glow lying on a nice grassy bed.  

 

Unele buchețele de culoare nu erau în soare, dar păreau ele însele un mic soare-curcubeu.

Boboci, și apoi înfloriri… arc de galben intens peste echinocțiul de primăvară. Pod peste timp.
Slalom printre zile… când calde, vesele și-nsorite, când reci, ploioase și-adumbrite.

Deocamdată.

 

Not all the little bouquets were in the sun, but the colors… themselves like a tiny rainbow-sun. 

Buds, and then blossoms… arch of intense yellow over the spring equinox. Bridge over time.
Meanders… warm, sunny and joyful one day, cold and rainy the next.

For now.  

 

“It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade.”
― Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

 

Buchet de lumină…/ Little bundle of light

 

“It was like a hand which had opened
and thrown suddenly upon her
a handful of sunbeams.”
― Victor Hugo, Les Misérables

 

 

Mi-au răsărit în cale azi dup-amiază… și mi-am zis, brândușe! Și galbene! Din senin!
Mi-au colorat frumos ziua de dincolo de-un gărduț rătăcit… micuțe, galbene, luminând liniștit.

Poate-mi voi face iar drum pe-acolo, să le surprind și-nflorirea.

 

I simply noticed them today, early afternoon… and I said to myself, autumn crocus! And yellow! Out of the blue like that? (or meadow saffron, and they say they bloom in autumn, well…)
They added color to my day, beautifully, from beyond a little fence along the pavement… tiny, yellow, shining silently.

I’ll try to go that way again, maybe to catch them in bloom. 

 

“A place in the sun, that’s what I am aiming for… and who could ever ask for more?’ -Columbine to Pierrot”
― Ana Claudia Antunes, Pierrot & Columbine

 

“There are those who dance the notes and those who dance the music.”
― Eva Ibbotson