The wind is blowing, it is grey and cold and i did turn on the heat this afternoon - for the first time this year.

I guess there is always a first for everything every year again and again. some say that there is a certain comfort in routine and repetition and that might be true. sometimes. Turning on the heat is both comforting and annoying. Comforting because i don't feel like i need to wear gloves in the house, annoying because it is just yet another marker for the cold season to come. Last year we had temperatures in the single digits for months. No, i should not try to predict the future, i know. I should not even attempt to try to predict anything. and of all things, not the weather. even the paid professionals on the various TV channels don't know what they are talking about. at least not in my mind. yes and yes again. weather is a lovely topic, after all. again and again.

I like the early morning hours, the awakening of a new day.

It is still so quiet when the sun rises into the beginning of a day.

there is this soft almost tender morning light, no traffic yet, almost empty streets. But the days get shorter and the noise sneaks up in the dark.

the sunlight makes its appearance with such a delay, i might say, that my inner clock is disturbed when i see the real time on my watch.

the innocence of a day is deprived of the light and in a few months time the mornings will be celebrated only in the dark.

I wish i could stop the turning of time.

the sight of the red mushroom reminded me of all kinds of fairy tales.

fairy tales taking place in the dark forest or in a long forgotten kingdom, in a world full of elves and witches, of princesses and dragons. i wonder what the mushroom really symbolizes? does it stand for a deadly poison or for a healing power? is it the one thing the hero has to find or to avoid? Hm. at the end it doesn't really matter. the red mushroom along the forest path was for a moment my gateway to another world, a world of miracles and happy endings...

just 25 words a day, one lesson per week and 5 months from now i might be able to understand the basics of the Spanish language.

25 words a day comes down to one word per hour. Now, if I take under consideration that i sleep an average of 8 hours a day i have 16 hours left for 25 words, which equals approximately 1.5 words per hour and a total of 175 new words per week. in the following week i have to re-learn at least one word from each hour from last week plus 1.5 new words, so we are at 2.5 words per hour per day. within a month I'm at 4.5 words per hour per day. imagine 8 hours of work and 2 hours of eat/drink that cuts out 10 hours or 15 words per day for the first week which then have to be shifted to the 1.5 words for the 6 hour period left. so that is roughly 4 words an hour per day for the first week only. well. then i have to add the expressions, grammar lessons and verb forms per week multiplied by 4 and then by 5. and then the first Spanish book should be imprinted in my memory. tengo suerte.

the first day of autumn. some trees are already dropping their leaves, others are changing their colors into fabulous shades of yellows and reds. last night I arrived on the other side of the coin called 'home'. a long flight. a short night. A cup of coffee in the morning. outside. again. the routine is waiting to be picked up. i hear the sound of the train in the distance and I see flocks of birds migrating. the first day of autumn. the glorious red of the morning has faded and dark grey clouds now fill the sky. I hope it will not rain for I want to go for a long walk. A walk back into home before i open all the little beautiful packages, which are lined up on the table. happy fall.

this morning the sky was covered with condensation trail. A criss-cross pattern enhancing the endless blue. soon i will be part of these patterns again and the world will look different again, all together. all these endless parallel worlds at any given time, just stepping in and out of various realities, if we choose too, if we are even aware of it.

i once read a book and if i recall correctly it was called.

*first blue then white then red*. the story was about a woman who 'disappeared', she left the house, went to the nearest bus stop, got on the next but and just left. the story was told by her husband, her son and lastly by herself.. in the end, after many years she returned home because the layers of reality had all melted into one and time and place mattered in a very different way. come to think of it, this book is powerful enough to be turned into a fabulous movie.

i have too many buttons and it seems like the whole world knows when and how to press them. maybe i have a user-friendly description printed on the back of my t-shirt and i don't know it?

the upper right one stands for crying, the lower left one for anger, the center one for feeling lost and the white one for uncontrolled laughter. to complicate the matter, sometimes various buttons act out at the same time and life feels really messy. in a weird way i feel like i am observing myself while acting at the same time, almost uncontrolled.. . and i'm sure that somewhere, somehow there is a gigantic switch board operator having a hell of a good time....

the days are running away from me.

i read the news but it seems pointless. i browse the internet, but my mind is absent. i have vivid dreams but they fade away in the early morning hours. the days are long, yet they blend into each other and lose their distinctiveness once i close my eyes at night.

yet i still clearly remember the planting of heather but i cannot recall the various conversations during the course of the day.

the days are running away and i don't have a ship that is parked in a safe harbor.....

traveling through time.

traveling through my world of images and thoughts.

which is more powerful ? the spoken word or the image, captured and stored? how do i define my world. i can close my eyes - and sometimes i don't even have to - and different realities are layered above the actual seen reality. but i can only hear one sound at a time. i can only smell one smell at a time and I can only touch one object at a time. so why does my internal image bank trick me and carry me away into different worlds, while my eyes are looking at a real object. or are they not looking at that very moment? is this all an illusion within itself? what do i really see or what do i believe i see? sometimes when i look at a photograph, i'm surprised by what i discover, there are elements which i haven't seen before.reality is almost never portrayed. at least not the way i remember it. but even my mood or the time of the day modifies the memory. i guess 'seeing' is an art, that takes time a lot of time ...

at my girlfriend's house i discovered a wonderful magazine about design, which i just love. i can never see enough beautiful new modern architecture or new ways to landscape and garden not to mention all the wonderful functional, yet beautiful furniture. a well designed room is not only a joy to look at but it is more so a joy to be in. the harmony of various styles can be energizing or relaxing, depending on the ton, form and color. i would love to work on mood boxes, filled with sample materials of color, fabrics and textures. it's like a puzzle. at the beginning one seems to be lost in the thousands of pieces, but at the end it all comes together and forms a perfect room, house or garden. i just love it. it's quite interesting that certain topics and subjects linger and never lose their attraction and fascination for me. every time my eye catches a beautifully designed object my spirits are lifted. unfortunately the world is mostly filled with ugly stuff....

I remember lying in the fields and watching the clouds changing their faces slowly. sometimes they displayed dragons, castles and princesses, sometimes just cars, trees and houses.. the cloud formations seemed to be fed from a source that provided an endless abundance of images.. and all I had to do was to lie down and enjoy them. It is very rare now that I look up into the cloudy sky and most of the time i don't see images anymore. the clouds are just an indication of 'rain' or 'storm' and most of the time i just want them to disappear..

the only exceptions are the mountains of clouds seen from above, from an airplane window.. these voluptuous castles still capture my attention.

today the clouds are traveling fast but my mind is absent.

it's quite windy today. the weather forecast predicted heavy rain showers but so far we've just had one quick downpour. My morning run was joyful not only because I was happy that the weather conditions allowed a run, but more so because i took 75 pictures during one hour. I enjoyed capturing the beauty of this park, with all it's various flower beds, water fountains and little lakes. it is a gorgeous place to run through. I can't help it but being in nature is the best cure for my soul. i don't really care too much anymore for buildings and structures, streets and busy roads. i don't mind them, but nothing puts such a smile on my face and makes me feel more alive than a walk or run through a beautiful piece of land. i'm so very grateful to have a house in the middle of nowhere where the seasons are not just a name or number on a calendar but are a reality that can be seen, heard, smelled and felt.

Summer is over. no matter how much i want to live in denial, the reality is shaking me up. it's windy and cold in the early morning hours. the Chestnuts are ripe. the clouds rush in and the rain showers don't refresh anymore, they just let the temperatures drop even further.i didn't bring enough sweaters with me. I guess this is the least of my problems. i hate to see summer go. easy living is fading away. the days are getting shorter and the outdoor restaurants already provide blankets for their guests. i wonder how my garden looks like on the other side of the globe and i just had the thought that i might need a garden in a more tropical climate. A place that is never visited by the cold. the sun light, shining through the large office windows is misguiding. I will get myself another cup of coffee. the day is crawling along.

the work days are long. the office space is the new home. more so than any other place. for about 20 minutes I walked through the neighborhood yesterday and to my own surprise i did not remember a little side street, which took me by surprise.

i left the house early this morning. On the way to the office i came across a little coffee shop, where i sat down on one of the benches and wrote. the coffee store had two entrance doors and the coming and going of all types of people reminded me of a train station. After a while i took out my spanish book, trying to learn new words. i'm curious if i will remember any tomorrow, since i felt so very tired. But getting back to my ritual helps me to stay grounded and focused. and not only this, it actually energizes me for the rest of the day. so i will certainly make it a point to support myself, to look after myself. compassion starts with oneself I suppose.

A city with a harbor. a large river. container ships. my old home. long time ago. many years ago. and even if it feels like revisiting the past, this is actually not possible. there are a few memories, yet the truth is, that ten years later no thread is left. the language ties the images from the past together. it is the only bridge into the present and it certainly makes me feel 'at home'. listening is effortless, talking even more so. i never have to search for a word, to ponder and think how to construct a sentence and yet quite often to my own surprise i answer in english. it is a sunny day, the bright light is shining into the office. yet when i close my eyes i can see myself sitting in the blue garden chair and drinking a cup of coffee. the transition is so effortless, that i can easily convince myself that i am there, too. Maybe this is how life really works?