Caprichos #620

Porta Palatina

(one of my favorites in Turin)

Coisas que não mudam #557

Gatos pretos no Halloween

Cores de Outono #82

 In a little more than a week the tree across the street lost its leaves

Sem título #138

Nerds... 

Cores de Outono #81

Red autumn

Cores de Outono #80

 Vibrant fall colors

Caprichos #619

Sempre espantada...

Cores de Outono #79

Da minha janela 

Coisas bonitas #50

 Pre-sunrise colors

Sem título #137

Self-discipline and restraint...

Cores de Outono #78

Sunset is more colorful in Autumn

O pôr-do-sol é mais colorido no Outono

Cores de Outono #77

Contrast

Coisas bonitas #49

Morning light

Palavras lidas #477

Pity the Beautiful
by Dana Gioia

Pity the beautiful,
the dolls, and the dishes,
the babes with big daddies
granting their wishes.

Pity the pretty boys,
the hunks, and Apollos,
the golden lads whom
success always follows.

The hotties, the knock-outs,
the tens out of ten,
the drop-dead gorgeous,
the great leading men.

Pity the faded,
the bloated, the blowsy,
the paunchy Adonis
whose luck’s gone lousy.

Pity the gods,
no longer divine.
Pity the night
the stars lose their shine.

Cores de Outono #76

 Jardim colorido

Ditto #456

Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.

--Simone Weil

Cores de Outono #75

Heightened colors

Sem título #136

 

Caprichos #618

 Casa Fenoglio-Lafleur, Turin

(for some reason I missed September in September...)

Sem título #135

 Kitties know...

Caprichos #617

 Almoço de jantarinhos

Palavras lidas #476

BLT
by Barbara Crooker

Enjoy every sandwich.
—Warren Zevon, talking with David Letterman about his terminal
lung cancer shortly before his death.

Here’s how to make a great sandwich:
country white bread lightly toasted,
contoured with mayonnaise, leaf
lettuce spilling over the borders,
overlays of tomatoes, train tracks
of bacon leading straight
out of town. No need for road
maps, potato chips, or pickles.
Yes, winter is waiting, just over
the horizon. But right now, I’m
going to sit in the sun and listen
to birdsong. I’m going to eat
every crumb, every plottable
coordinate, now, while I can.

Cores de Outono #74

Vibrant

Caprichos #616

 Who would have thought that Leicester could surprise?

Retirado do contexto #281

 A cat on a donut

Ditto #455

First keep peace with yourself, then you can also bring peace to others.

--Saint Thomas Kempis (c. 1380-1471)

Sem título #134

Sweet gestures

Coisas que não mudam #556

On the day of Saint Francis, the patron saint of animals, a phrase of the saint:

"If you have men who will exclude any of God's creatures from the shelter of compassion and pity, you will have men who will deal likewise with their fellow men"

Em dia de São Francisco, patrono dos animais, fica uma frase do santo:

"Homens que excluem as criaturas de Deus do abrigo da compaixão e da piedade, farão o mesmo com os seus semelhantes"

Foi neste dia #365 (1990)

Há 30 anos ao bater da meia noite concretizava-se a reunificação alemã quase um ano depois da queda do muro de Berlim em Novembro de 1989. Hoje, ainda há diferenças visíveis até em imagens de satélite.

Palavras lidas #475

Somebody’s Mother
by Mary Dow Brine

The woman was old and ragged and gray
And bent with the chill of the Winter’s day.
The street was wet with a recent snow
And the woman’s feet were aged and slow.
She stood at the crossing and waited long,
Alone, uncared for, amid the throng
Of human beings who passed her by
Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye.
Down the street with laughter and shout,
Glad in the freedom of ‘school let out,’
Came the boys like a flock of sheep,
Hailing the snow piled white and deep.
Past the woman so old and gray
Hastened the children on their way.
Nor offered a helping hand to her—
So meek, so timid, afraid to stir
Lest the carriage wheels or the horses’ feet
Should crowd her down in the slippery street.
At last came one of the merry troop,
The gayest lad of all the group;
He paused beside her and whispered low,
“I’ll help you cross, if you wish to go.”
Her aged hand on his strong young arm
She placed, and so, without hurt or harm,
He guided the trembling feet along,
Proud that his own were firm and strong.
Then back again to his friends he went,
His young heart happy and well content.
“She’s somebody’s mother, boys, you know,
For all she’s aged and poor and slow,
And I hope some fellow will lend a hand
To help my mother, you understand,
If ever she’s poor and old and grey,
And her own dear boy is far away.”
“Somebody’s mother” bowed low her head
In her home that night, and the prayer she said
Was, “God be kind to the noble boy,
Who is somebody’s son, and pride and joy!”

Ditto #454

When you are courting a nice girl, an hour seems like a second. When you sit on a red-hot cinder, a second seems like an hour. That’s relativity.

--Albert Einstein