R is for Ruins

On my way to my grandma's house I have to pass by the ruins of "St. Haralambie" church (yes, near a forest, too) which had been built in 1818 and whose mysteries are yet to be revealed. This is one of the things tourmenting my curiousity as a child and was a central place to many stories I was creating in my childhood and teens.

dandelion fields

stirring imagination -

dubious riuns

mysteries hidden -

the pass of time will deepen

curiousity

stories writing place -

playing with ghosts from the past,

rewriting the truth

After more than 2 decades fantasizing about the ruins and inventing stories, about 2 years ago I've researched it and I haven't found more than the name of the church and the year of the construction. So, my mind still creates scenaries and scenarios around it. I could imagine a ghotic novel around this mystery (1st draft almost ready - boxed in autumn - why haven't God offered me the gift of finishing up everything?)
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NaHaiWriMo

April 20th - music/musical instrument

late-April evening -

cicada's sad violin

telling his story

Carpe Diem

April 20th - Abraham (wisdom)

halfway through his life,

contemplating what has been -

ready for future

his speech,

like never before -

a lesson

Q is for Questions

When I was little I had a lot of questions about everything and everyone - I was a curious child. I used to walk a lot and imagine the places surrounding me the way my parents have told me they used to look like before I was born.

questioning my past -

flooded by dazzling sunlight,

running the wild fields

The hometown of my memories was quite unchanged during my growing up. Only since five years ago the aspect of Scornicesti started to change, getting more modern, more like this century.

tell me willow tree,

which are the secrets you keep

about what has been

Now, when I take a walk around the town I remember the town of my childhood: gloomier than today, but the house of most of my memories.

the same old pine tree

I was using as shelter

during Hide and Seek

It's difficult not to smile at those memories.

P is for Paradise

I love parks. Unfortunately, Scornicesti has only a park and that's very small. When I was younger, I used to go visit Rusciori, a touristic complex anexed to a beatiful lake. I used to loose track of time, wondering enjoying the view, dreaming and imagining stories, writing poems in that fabulous decor.

Enjoy the pics, they speak for themselves:

O is for Old

Scornicesti isn't a modern town. Most of its buildings have witnessed the change . The apartment buildings are relatively new, but the houses , the villas and mansions - they know the rhythm and the pulse of the town.

slowly aging town -

old houses and roads and men

guarding their secrets

under low rooftops

April sun burning old walls -

some swallows nesting

rain clouds on spring sky

darkening my surroundings -

town's greying buildings

no statues, no art -

old people on old benches

in the morning sun

L is for Lake

H is for Hydro

The creek that crosses the town is called Plapcea. It's just a feeble water thread on the surface and sometimes, in torrid summers it dries out completely. But in the spring months it's nice to watch the idle water finding its way through herbs and stones, nourishing the land and keeping it green.

I find it moderately active in spring, very inspiring in summer, very dull in autumn. That makes me wonder how can a single thing inspire different states at different times.

by the water stream

watching the white sand and herbs -

my dreams of summer

slowly running in,

my thoughts and the idle stream -

soft breeze wrapping me

G is for Green

I love spring, I love sunlight and light breeze! And I love that in April and May I can really enjoy those in Scornicesti, because it's packed with green herbs, grass tress and flower, especially wild flowers.

In spring and summer the green and the wild flora tame the grey resting in the town's old buildings. 

through small gray buildings

in the April light I smell

stains of green, of spring

I enjoy walking around the town, strolling around the hills surrounding Scornicesti. I enjoy their serenity, their silence and peacefullness.

spring oasis,

the wild fields in April night

calling my echo