the last day of March. 

Spring is arriving.  the pussy willow tree is exploding. the tulips are growing and the country side is tinted in fresh vibrant green. 

the sky is blue and the temperatures are finally rising again. the air is fresh and crisp and carries a sense of new beginning. dreams are unleashed and the mornings are less dark. 

i woke up with a smile on my face. energetic and in good spirits. there is no explanation for why I am smiling on a Tuesday and why I felt doom and gloom on Monday.  Yet there is a blue ribbon that runs through the days like a red thin threat and it's called hope. hope is wishing, dreaming, imagining. 

hope is the engine within me and spring is an excellent fuel. 

the bed linen was soft and warm this morning, the duvet cover cozy and comfortable. the alarm clock cruel and the meow from 'fat cat' annoying. it is raining today. i feel blue. the street is wet and the birds are hiding. the coffee is warm. the neighbor two houses down the street is going on a four week cruise along the coast of Africa. how wonderful. all the national parks, the excursions. i can dream myself away. any time. easily. i would love to see new places. i would love to travel. to explore. but nothing seems more impossible for now. so i travel in my imagination. during my walks. while gazing at old tree trunks. daydreaming. sometimes i see myself on a sunny ocean shore, surrounded by lots of people, sometimes i see myself in an old courtyard, overgrown with beautiful flowers, setting a large dinner table. will any of these various dreams create a reality of their own? and if so, what is the first step now?

fairy tales are entry doors into another world. a world of imagination and wonder, of possibilities and support, of danger and threats. they are powerful door openers into our subconscious. images, collected through the years are all floating around, getting mixed up and turned around within the world of wonder. Alice knew. 

this green door, with its paint peeling off and a door frame that hardly supports the door anymore, reminds one of Greece. Old villages glued to the hills with steep staircases winding down to the ocean. warm morning winds and quiet afternoons. old ladies in black dresses glancing through windows, hidden and covered by lace curtains. men sitting on small benches, the roaring sound of Vespas. Kids playing in the streets. the streets are narrow and made out of cobblestone. The marvelous blue sky melts into the ocean and the eye is sinking into the illuminated blue horizon.  the door seems locked and the  house abandoned. old furniture inside. broken. a shelf displaying a few small glasses.  a table.  no chairs. does this door have a knob. shall we step inside?

the blue strings run through the trees in the middle of nowhere. I'm standing on an unpaved street at the bottom of the hill . just a few feet into the woods, the blue string is attached to a large green plastic barrel and from there the string is zigzagging up the hill. what is this all about? is this an art project or a complex agricultural study? either way, it made me stop on my walk and wonder. someone actually climbed the hill and attached this blue plastic string. with a closer look the string turns out to be a tube, a plastic tube. i like the look of it, the light blue tone, the irregular zigzag.  it carries great symbolism. for life. for daily thoughts. for daily tasks. for a journey into the unknown or for a path that has been created for us. 

on my runs i pass these hurtles and each time they put a smile on my face, encouraging me to keep going in a curious state of mind. 

Can you see the cat in the garage? 

the little grey cat, looking out into the world? i wanted to get closer but i was afraid that she might just get up and run back into the barn. i looked at her for a long time, wondering how her view might be. the cat, the barn,the black doors, the red car, the sunlight - all these layers melt together into a timeless image. or maybe it's more the idea of a timeless image. the barn cat and the red pick-up truck remind me of a 'perfect' world in the middle of last century, a life without the struggles of today's demanding world. a slower pace. 

yes, this is it. an image that allows one to contemplate, allows the mind to travel, to wonder, to imagine. the cat is observing and so is the cat's observer. both caught in time. 

how is it possible that such a glorious sky can trick you into the false illusion of a warm and tender day? Spring has officially arrived and winter is not loosening it's cold grip. quite the opposite. the frost is lingering all day. the wind gusts make you shiver. Writing my pages early this morning was a tough call.  i fought with the alarm clock, arguing for 10 minutes at a time, until i realized that my mind had already started the race and innocent sleep would not be possible anymore. i got up and sat down at my little table, opened my red journal and started writing. off the pen went and words were appearing on the page and i suddenly remembered a dream. i was the house-keeper of a rich businessman. he was always surrounded by friends, colleagues and acquaintances. i was the silent, ignored servant. spring came and i suggested some flowers for the front porch and alongside the pool. he approved of my suggestions, a bit condescendingly though - but he did. his friends were laughing at me. he got up and left. then i stood up, walked over to two women standing casually around in the garden close to the entrance. with a very clear and loud voice i started talking to them. i heard myself saying strange things such as> do you really think that red lipstick proves anything?< > your fake face is not needed anymore<.

while I kept on talking to them, I 'threw' them out of the house. all of them. I walked back inside, knowing that my voice would never be ignored again. never again. and that the businessman and I would be a team from now on. i felt great.

can we really believe in the miracle of change?  in the power of our own voices? in the knowledge of our unconsciousness? - are dreams  more then just the foam of waves, crashing on the shore?

i can close my eyes and see the city. the streets, filled with cars, trucks, cabs, buses, people crossing the streets. i can hear cars honking, people talking, police sirens in the distance, music blasting through open store fronts. i can see the street vendors, I can feel the pulse of the rush hour. there is an underlying current in the air, the rush from point a to point b, the urgency to arrive, to accomplish, to be somewhere, meeting someone. now. fast. there are the little pizza joints, the small restaurants, the take-out places, the delis all filled with people on lunch break. the clock is ticking. everywhere. the subway entrances spill out people and suck them in. the bright sunlight reveals the dirt on the streets. the boutiques mirror the color, show off summer dresses and thin fabrics. sunglasses are en vogue. will always be. 

i don't even have to close my eyes. it's all there.. right in front of me. any time.