All Posts Filed in ‘beauty


Little pleasures

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saldise 19

Last Sunday I went for a walk to the country. The landscape was magnificent: Green meadows, powerful mountains, leafy forests… But I was caught like a child by the candid beauty of the little wild daisies I found along my path.


Odd Confidence


I’ve been walking by the river’s bank this morning. It was a cold but gorgeous day. I’ve even crossed the river with my walker thru the narrow pedestrian bridge without railings to take pictures. Only a few weeks ago I wouldn’t have dared to do something like that out of fear to fall down, because I need help to walk. I ventured alone. The bridge is so narrow I was afraid that my walker could fall to the water while I was taking pictures, but it has brakes and nothing bad happened. I’ve had to put it just in the edge, to let the walkers could pass. The little bridge had a lot of traffic. A group of youngsters passed running, and several people walking. An old man stopped by to talk with me. another man helped me with my walker to  climb some stairs along the path. I’m glad I had that odd confidence in myself. It was worth it. Here are some of the pictures I took.

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Zany Bird


bird (1 of 1)

Tich used to go out of his nest every day to explore the world and get some food for hungry family. He worked hard to find worms here and there and fly back home on the lush tree next to the river. Three chicks with their peaks open were waiting for him. Always asking for more. Always the same routine. Go out, hunt, find worms and come back as soon as possible. And he was always dreaming on flying far away and sing like a canary. But he was a common wild bird, with a lot of responsibilities. A wife and three chicks! He couldn’t wait for the moment the chicks would learn how to fly.

Meanwhile, Tich was leaving the nest every day to do his duties, not after performing stunts for the delight of his children while singing, with his cracked voice, wonderful melodies he had learnt when he had approached the city, where the canaries lived. The chicks chirped amazed. Daddy, Daddy, do it again! And then, Tich would make for them an elegant loop or a frightening free drop. The kids were proud of their father. His wife was a little ashamed because there was a lot of buzz around about him and begged him to stop being so strange and behave like an average bird.

All the other birds of the tree thought Tich was mad. All that strange singing, his dangerous flights… They thought he was making a fool of himself and that he was setting a bad example for the youngsters.
But Tich enjoyed his way of life, and he began to go farther and farther looking for food. One day he arrived to the big park in the city. There were a lot of worms because the gardeners had changed all the flower beds for the summer and the soil was fresh and moist. There was an open space with a big statue in the middle. An ideal place to practice his flight stunts.

That day he found a lot of humans seated around the monument. Some of them had strange wooden and metal objects in their hands. And then he heard it. Symphonic music. He didn’t know, but the monument represented a famous tenor from the XIX century. It was his anniversary and his fans celebrated it with a little open air concert. Some musicians and singers were performing fragments of the opera “The Pearl Fishers” by Georges Bizet.  Tich flew to the top of the statue and listened mesmerised by the new sounds, eager to learn the new melodies.  A man was singing in french:

I think I still hear,
hidden under palm trees,
her voice soft and sound
like a song of wood pigeons…

Tich couldn’t understand the words, but he felt beauty and love. He didn’t know the humans envied the bird’s voices. He certainly liked that human music. And began to sing out of happiness. He tried the new melody and oh wonder! His voice was not cracked any more. His trill flowed clear, musical and full of wonderful harmonies.

Since then, Tich, the crazy, wild bird from the tree by the river, flew every day to the park, and sang the romantic song he learned on that very spot. Humans taking a walk used to stop to listen to him.
This is not a common bird, they thought, and tried to spot him. They were looking for some rare creature and didn’t pay attention on him, perched in a branch nearby.

He looked very common. But he wasn’t. He had become a great singer. Like the man in the statue.


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Sigh no more ladies, sigh no more

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I just saw the movie about the Shakespearian play Much ado about Nothing made in 1993 by Keneth Branagh, and get seduced again by Balthasar’s song’ when Don Pedro, Claudio Y Leonato are trying to concimce Benekick tiara Beatrrice loves him. I love the song and think that Branagh did a great job choosing it as a Leifmotif of his movie.

It says:

Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever,
One foot in sea and one on shore,
To one thing constant never:
Then sigh not so, but let them go,
And be you blithe and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into Hey nonny, nonny.
Sing no more ditties, sing no moe,

Of dumps so dull and heavy;
The fraud of men was ever so,
Since summer first was leafy:
Then sigh not so, but let them go,

And be you blithe and bonny,

Converting all your sounds of woe

Into Hey nonny, nonny.


Objective and subjective

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We’ve all heard that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Do you agree? is all beauty contingent on a subjective point of view?

What about all the beautiful things the universe has and we have not discovered yet? Aren’t they beautiful? Should we strip them of their quality just because a beholder didn’t made a judgment about them? I think this proves that there is something objective in beauty both in nature as in art. But at the same time there are a lot of subjectivity in the perception of beauty by the human being. What is beautiful for me can be boring and even ugly for another person. I may like a particular aesthetic quite different to a dominant aesthetic. I think beauty is there for us, to discover and enjoy it, and depends of the sensibility of each person what we find in it. So an objective quality and a subjective perception.

Absolute Beauty.


Living Art


One day, your favorite piece of art — a famous painting or sculpture, the graffiti next door — comes to life. What happens next?


Nobody moves. Silence. Tears fall down my cheeks. I’m deeply touched.

There is no solace for a mother who has lost his Son. And in that horrible way. I can’t say a word. She is caressing his lifeless body with intense love. Her heart broken.

At least He is not suffering any more. He gave everything. Till the last drop of blood. Now everything has ended. She’s crying silently over His dead body resting on her lap.

I would like to be able to comfort her. But nobody can. I only watch from a prudent distance and wait in case she needs some help. I have to respect this last moment of mother and son before the burial.

I don’t dare to interrupt

Nobody moves. Silence. Tears.


Living Art.


Beautiful Bermeo


Tell us about a situation where you’d hoped against all hope, where the odds were completely stacked against you, yet you triumphed. Be sure to describe your situation in full detail. Tell us all about your triumph in all its glory.

My life is so normal and my memory so short! I can’t remember such a situation. No big triumphs with a flair of glory. Only little achievements unnoticed.

Against all odds I write every day hoping something worthy to tell will come up. But my stories are so negative and so sad that I get discouraged.

Usually when I’m going against all odds I end in frustration.  They say I’m jinxed. When I was in my first year as a reporter (I think I was 17 or 18) my boss in Bilbao sent me to do a report about the tuna fishermen in Bermeo, a beautiful town near Bilbao. It was a saturday and he told me to go there to do some interviews and write a full page for that same day.

I went to Bermeo, in a glorious day, full of hopes to do a great report, only to find out that all the fishermen were on the high seas, so there were nobody to talk with for my interviews, only some women who talked in basque so fast there was no way to understand them. I went to look for the mayor and other authorities as an alternative, and I found out that all of them had traveled precisely to Bilbao, because there was a big demonstration organised by their political party.

I had to come back to Bilbao defeated, empty handed, to face an angry boss who had an empty page waiting for me. I did something with what the women had told me and some big pictures of the beautiful port, and saved the day, but without glory.

I had had previous problems with that same boss who had sent me to do impossible reports more than once. My visit to Bermeo to interview fishermen when the whole fishing fleet was on the high seas was the last. When the editor knew about it, decided to assign me to another boss. That was my little triumph.

Daily Prompt: Against All Odds.
Posts by other bloggers on the next page:


Try to remember


For many of us the seasons are changing, bouncing unpredictably between cold and warm. Are you glad to be moving into a new season, or wishing for one more week of the old?

Autumn is beautiful.

I love when the season is already there with all the symphony of colors in display. The nature is beautiful. And if I can I go out to enjoy the sights I do. I would like to have words and the ability to put them together with some sense to describe what I feel contemplating the Autumn landscapes. I can’t. I prefer to show you one of them near to my city.

Because of my circumstances I’m lately tied to the urban environment, but I have in my city enough green spaces to enjoy the change of the season and I always can remember. When I feel down, which is often when the season is changing, I use to sing the old song from “The Fantasticks” that used to perform Jerry Orbach:

Try to remember the kind of September
When life was slow and oh, so mellow.
Try to remember the kind of September
When grass was green and grain was yellow.
Try to remember the kind of September
When you were a tender and callow fellow.
Try to remember, and if you remember,
Then follow.

Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow,
Follow, follow, follow, follow.

Try to remember when life was so tender
That no one wept except the willow.
Try to remember when life was so tender
That dreams were kept beside your pillow.
Try to remember when life was so tender
That love was an ember about to billow.
Try to remember, and if you remember,
Then follow.

Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow,
Follow, follow, follow, follow.

Deep in December, it’s nice to remember,
Although you know the snow will follow.
Deep in December, it’s nice to remember,
Without a hurt the heart is hollow.
Deep in December, it’s nice to remember,
The fire of September that made us mellow.
Deep in December, our hearts should remember
And follow.

Daily Prompt: Mid-Season Replacement.

More mid season posts on the next page:


Nessun dorma!


Describe what it feels like to hear a beautiful piece of music or see a stunning piece of art.

Nesun dorma! Nesun dorma!

No-one sleeps!, but not because of the stars trembling with love, but because of the beauty of the Sounds of Music flowing like an Ol’ Man River depicting that feeling and thousands more in a magic string you’ll hope never ends and then finishes so soon.

No-one sleeps….no-one sleeps,
Even you, O Princess,
in your cold room,
Watch the stars
which tremble with love
and hope!

But my secret is locked within me,
no-one shall know my name!
No, no, I shall say it on your mouth
when the light breaks!

And my kiss will break the silence
that makes you mine!

(No-one shall know his name,
and we, alas, shall die!)

Vanish, o night!
Set, ye stars!
At dawn I shall win!

Daily Prompt: Eye of the Beholder.
more artistic posts on the next page:




20130915-022400.jpgGrab the nearest book. Open it and go to the tenth word. Do a Google Image Search of the word. Write about what the image brings to mind

The tenth word was “hushed”. And the images were most about quiet landscapes.

Escape. Leave behind the strident noises of the stressful life that surrounds me and find a quiet place to rest. This is what I need. The sea is not precisely silent and quiet but to contemplate it give peace to my soul and clears my mind. I remember with nostalgia my long walks by myself at the Ocean beach in San Francisco when I was living there and my quiet days by the Croatian Adriatic Sea a complaining my mother. Beautiful memories. A lot of natural beauty engraved in them. And also an opportunity to feel the link with my roots, because from my father’s side there re generations and generations of ship captains. Finally, looking at the ocean is so easy to think about how big are the wonders God gave is, how small are us and how much we have to do to preserve that Beauty to generations to come.

Daily Prompt: Bookworms.

Great post about words in the next page:


Sunset over the sea

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Describe your first memorable experience exploring and spending time in nature. Were you in awe? Or were you not impressed? Would you rather spend time in the forest or the city?

by OldGreySeaWolf

by OldGreySeaWolf

Sunset over the sea. The sound of the waves. The cries of the seagulls. A fresh breeze. The colors. The light. A constant change with an infinite calmness. I was small. That was immense. I would watch at it for ever without getting tired.

Daily Prompt: The Natural World.

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Goya and Velázquez in my delirium


Las Meninas by Velázquez

Las Meninas by Velázquez

I met Goya and Velázquez, at El Prado Museum in Madrid. I went with my parents and my brother. We spent there several hours several days to contemplate the wonders of the museum with calm and avoid getting too tired. I enjoyed a lot the rooms filled with paintings by those two giants of art.

I love portraits and there were a lot of them because both were court painters. Velázquez in the XVII Century and Goya later, in the Romantic era. You could see beautiful dresses, queens and princesses, kings and knights, and court characters.

I liked Goya a lot. His way of painting, his colors, his characters. But suddenly, his lasts works grew darker and darker. First the “Disasters of War”, then his “Black Paintings”. That scared me a lot, above all the famous “Saturn devouring his son”. So when we arrived to the room where you can see the famous painting “Las Meninas” by Velázquez, I was happy again and my fears disappeared. I was contemplating a painting with a princess and girls with beautiful dresses and a great sense of deepness and reality.

We went back home and one year after I get sick with a bone tumor in my leg and I needed an operation. I was twelve and I was very worried about the anesthesia, because they told me that when you are recovering from anesthesia you say everything, even your deepest secrets, and at that age I didn’t want anybody to know about my secrets.

It turned out that when I was recovering from the anesthesia, in my delirium I was dreaming that I was inside the paintings of Goya. Posing with kings and queens, dancing with merry farmers…, but suddenly the merry farmers began to change and became the horrible characters of the “Black Paintings” and I was trapped by monsters that were dragging me towards the ominous Saturn devouring his son and waiting for me. So I began to cry aloud “I don’t like Goya, I like Velázquez, I don’t like Goya, I like Velázquez!”…

And that was my secret.

My father told me later he was proud of me I had a cultural delirium.

Daily Prompt: The Artist’s Eye.

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An unorganized visit to Croatia


Dubrovnik/Mario Romulić & Dražen Stojčić

Dubrovnik/Mario Romulić & Dražen Stojčić

When Mom hit 87 she began to say: I don’t want to die without seeing home once more. We didn’t have the money to travel to Croatia from Spain then, but we wanted to fulfill her will. Then suddenly  something never happened to me before (never after) arrived as a gift from heaven. I won a price in a Christmas lottery consistent in a two people trip to Cuba. I asked if I could change the destination and they said yes!

So we went to Croatia that year in an unorganized trip. I hate organized trips. We just wanted to get lost. Mom wanted to see home. She is from Senj, a little town North near the port of Rijeka, close to the Croatian biggest Island, Krk. The town was leveled in WWII and most of its ancient buildings have disappeared except the castle of Nehaj. But the town is still known because of its history and its strong winds: the “senjska bura” that sweeps the sea between the Island and the mainland and in winter use to form ice in the coast. In summer the water is clean, transparent, and beautiful.

We went to Krk to the town of Punat to visit a little island inside a bay of the big Island, Kosljun. This little Island has only a franciscan monastery in it and we went there to visit a friar who was my mom’s friend from youth. Father Mavro. We went to Kosljun in a little boat named St Anton. We spent several days there. It was the most peaceful site I remember. An island only for the franciscans and their guests in a beautiful scenario. Silence, nature, the monastery and nothing more.

Krk has a lot to historic and natural places to see and enjoy. It was great.

Then we headed south to Dubrovnik, a very known medieval city because we wanted to go to Kotor, in Montenegro, were my father was born. Again, Dubrovnik is a popular touristic destination, but is great being there with time to get lost when is not the hot season and you can walk freely through the main street stradun, sit down at the Onofrio’s fountain, go to some little restaurant in one of the narrow side streets, visit the ancient pharmacy of the franciscans or the ducal palace or if you can (we couldn’t because of the age of my mom) take the steps and go up to the walls of the city that fall down to the sea and give you astonishing views. We took a boat and surrounded the walls. It was great. Then back at the hotel a “Klapa” or group of men signing folk songs sang for us in an open air dinner close to the sea. In Dubrovnik the sea was also clean and transparent and beautiful.

Finally we cross the border with Montenegro and went to Kotor another medieval city with Croatian population where my father was born, which is at the end of a beautiful bay of the same name. We were able to visit my aunt and uncle and my cousins and we went with them again to get lost in the city and enjoy the bay surrounded by high mountains, the water calm, with its little islands inside.

Finally we went back to Dubrovnik and then the last day the “klapa” sang to my mom a song dedicated to her. Her name is Anna and the Lyrics goes “Anna, my little Ana, may soul, my heart”. With That song in our hearts we went back to Spain and that was her las visit home.

I would like to come back to get lost in the Croatian Adriatic coast again by myself, visit more cities and places we were dreaming to see, and remember those days with mom.

Daily Prompt: Tourist Trap.


A photoblog

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19th century studio camera, with bellows for f...

19th century studio camera, with bellows for focusing (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

If you could switch blogs with any blogger for a week, with whom would you switch and why?

I would switch my blog with a photo blogger. That would mean I would leave my little office with my camera and hit the road, stop wherever I want, and be a lot of time in open air looking for beautiful imagery around me. Maybe I would know new people tot talk with or find places where one only wants look at the wonders of nature in silence. Or look at these thousands of familiar things we are so used to see, but with other eyes, the eyes of an artist. Then I would go back home and select the best picture to post in my blog with a short comment, maybe a few words, or a simple headline or nothing. No words, only forms and colors, light and shadows becoming art. That would be great! I love good pictures. I admire photographers. I would like to know how to do it.

Daily Prompt: Switcheroo.