A smell contains worlds.
This morning the kitchen smells of jasmine and sandalwood and lapsang souchong tea, smoke tinged with piney resin, a glimpse of a mountainside in a strange land, in a time alive in a stranger's deep memory. Old, crazy poets drinking alone in cloud forests, laughing at reflections in mountain streams, waiting to follow the fast flight of birds as they disappear around the mountain, beyond those great, mist-wreathed cliffs, on beyond knowledge into oblivion.
I wish I had written this but you can read more of this man's beautiful writing and view his stunning photographs over on Pete's blog.
Thanks to Frida for showing the way to this powerful taste of home.
"Old, crazy poets drinking alone in cloud forests, laughing at reflections in mountain streams" ... One of my little, ah, tics is to write notes to myself on the bathroom mirror (no reflection in a mountain stream, but still...) ... One of those notes reads, from the Rolling Stones song: "Hey, hey, you, you, get off of my cloud"! (and, yes, I laugh at myself.)
ReplyDeleteAwesome post!
Di, thanks for the kind words! I've just had a quick look around, and your photos are beautiful; in particular, your portraits indicate a great eye for the moment.
ReplyDeletePete seems to be kind of kiwi awesome. I almost died from this longing to be back home and in the places his words and photographs captured.
ReplyDelete:) Interesting ... tic of yours.
It was a pleasure, Pete and thank you for your kind words. I'm glad you didn't mind me borrowing an extract from your post but it made me so very homesick.
So beautiful, Di, and thank you for sharing this so your readers can sample (and quite likely fall in love with) this man's blog.
ReplyDeleteRe: Barbara's comments, I write notes to my husband on the bathroom mirror but never thought to include myself!
I thought so too, Lydia.
ReplyDeleteI had to smile over you two and your mirror writing. I have this 4 year old creature in the apartment and she puts handprints on everything. I'm just going through that stage where I couldn't add anymore marks to my glass surfaces ... it will pass.