my autumn

I'm not usually a fan of the Fall. I prefer the Spring, when everything feels new, or the Summer, when I can run and take my bicycle and wear tiny dresses. I usually equate the Fall and the Winter with rain, with depression and loneliness. 

Maybe it's because I'm neither. Maybe it's because I'm okay, even with a few mood swings; I'm working as a dessert chef at my dad's restaurant, I'm taking pictures, I have my garden and my 52 Stories and my NaNoWriMo almost starting. So I'm good. And being good allows me to appreciate the things I don't normally do — which is exactly what I've been doing these days. 

I spent my afternoon, yesterday, taking care of my garden. I trimmed the tomato bush (oh goodness!), tied the tallest plants to sticks (I have a cucumber branch that is taller than I am!) and moved things around to give them space to grow. I also picked a handful of tomatoes and chili peppers, as well as an eggplant! I have eggplants!

Today, after having lunch with my friend J, I came home and started my tiny herb garden. I've had a lot of offerings from people around me, mostly for small herbs, like mint or basil, so I filled up a vase with dirt and now I have thyme, rosemary and parsley growing. I'm now waiting for other plants people might give me. *hint hint*

I had some time this afternoon, so I decided to try to knit a sleeve for my new mug. Huh. No. I dropped it after three lines because I got sleepy. That's how lousy my concentration ability is these days. I'm like a fly, looking — OH SPARKLY STUFF.

I think I bought this book when I was in my first years of college. I remember skimming through it, but today I actually sat and read it. It's lovely. Of course, completely outdated and almost whimsical at times. But still cute.

I have a thing for tea. Especially if it's in a pretty mug with a pretty filter. This is cinnamon tea, one of my favorites. All I was missing was a mint leaf, but I guess I'll have those soon enough. 

Have a blessed rest of week! I hope your Autumn days are filled with beauty and wonder. 

and as she travels, the world turns faster

Story 3/52

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and as she travels, the world turns faster

it's a frightening feeling, that of the traveler who has never wandered, never found herself walking aimlessly through the veins of a town she hasn't known. It's exhilerating. It's got the same brand of excitement as the newfound love, the wonder of loneliness and company altogether, mixing with the strange fear and the cold in the pit of her stomach. She has never walked alone and now she is, and she's so brave for it, isn't she? She, the one for whom everything is just a little harder, just a little brighter, just did it on her own, and now she's happy. And terrified, but that's a good thing.

It means she's taken a step forward.

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This photo was delayed due to my trip to Berlin (where I still am, having a wonderful time!). I spent all day stressing about not having taken a pic of the week, when my darling stopped me at an old train station and said 'Hey, you wanna take your picture here?'. It was only then I looked around and it was just the perfect location. She served as my human tripod and I owe a great part of this photo to her.

the apple pickers

The Apple Pickers

it starts with the fall, the way the applies redden on the tree branches, invading the entire orchard tenaciously.  There were rows of apple trees, of peach trees, cherries and pears. But the apples were the most important of all the land — plump and juicy, they were known to make the best apple jams and pies in the state. 

The twins rose early on harvest days. Their usual sleepiness disappeared as soon as their parents started to call their workers to the Orchard, the metallic bell resounding through the entire plantation. They picked their baskets and ran across the fields: his hand holding his hat in place as she released her braids from the morning confinement of the bonnet, leaving the scrap of fabric between blueberry bushes and the strawberry field. The smiles lit up their faces; the summer had turned to fall and suddenly everything made sense again, the warmth of the clothing, the commotion and the action of making jam and pie and spending days secluded in the kitchen, surrounded by their helpers. 

The songs of the helpers filled the air as they worked. The twins were a stark contrast to their dark skins, and yet, that was the place where they felt more included. They could sing and dance, they could jump and laugh and cry and no one would shut them up; there would be no punishment, no going to bed without dessert. The helpers? They knew what it was like to be without food. They wouldn't take it from them. It had been that way ever since they were children.

Eldora was their nanny, growing up. Replacing the figure of the grandmother that was too busy entertaining guests, she would sit them on each of her legs, hold them close until they were both asleep. They didn't talk much; they didn't need to, with her. She knew what they needed even they couldn't put it into words. 

They stopped as they reached the Orchard, their eyes following the trail of dark skinned people taking stairs, holding up baskets, singing songs of love and longing. And mourning. They were singing a song of mourning for Eldora, and the twins sat on the fence while the men and women gathered in a circle, placing their baskets in the middle. 

The boy threw an apple in the air while they stared, his concentration showing in the way he always caught it, always threw it at the same height. The girl twisted her braid between her fingers, a sign of nervousness. She should be in nursing school and he should be helping Daddy with the sales, at the office: but there they were, the clothes from when they were young teenagers only half-fitting, the hat and the checkered shirts and the skirt too short. And they were exactly where they wanted to be.

they stood still, eyes glued to the spectacle before them. There were colors and music and the smell of apples in the air. 

The servants danced now, a young girl they knew as Ginny singing a song of magic and love and the sacred land of God. And with that song in mind, they picked up their baskets and moved to help.

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Story 1/52

Welcome to my new weekly project, 52 Stories. Don't forget to this blog or Flickr to see the photos and stories posted every Friday afternoon! 

I hope you like the project and that you follow it as enthusiastically as I am making it. These projects are nothing without your words, your opinions and your encouragement, so don't be shy! Talk to me!

the mermaid and the light

the mermaid and the light — series of three

Taken in the beautiful beaches of Porto Santo with the wonderful help of my aunt Maria, who was patient enough to have me making her a human tripod and ordering her around.

"Left! Right! No, point it further up. No, not so much!"

She's a saint, for putting up with me.

This is a series of three, assembled because of their common aesthetics (read blur). I have a couple more series to post, but the one I'm posting as main was my favorite, and therefore shall be the first.

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because the mermaid is still looking at the light.

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let me know what you think of it?

okay, I promise I'm shutting up, now.

I just decided to post this picture on Flickr — because my selfies start piling up when I take too long to post them — and thought it would be a good idea to post the outtakes here!

Enjoy!

la bella italia, day two

Please, please, please forgive me for the length of this post, but I didn't want to cut off the days in half. So this is my entire day two — Florence. 

I had been there the night before. We had passed by the Piazza del Duomo on our way to a coffee shop, but I hadn’t seen it properly. I did it on purpose — I wanted to be in complete awe when I saw it for the first time — so I was. Yesterday morning, when we got there, all I could do was stare. T has been unbelievably patient with all my giggling and squealing — I just can’t help myself and it’s not something she’s usually tolerant about, so it’s been nice.

I didn’t squeal when I saw it. I fell silent and looked at every single detail, every small piece of sculpture, of painting. And then it came to my mind, slowly but steadily. The lyrics to The Light in the Piazza started to fall out of my mouth and I sang it, low, inaudible to the people around me unless they were paying attention. That’s how it happened, one of my lifetime traveling fantasies — to sing this song in front of that church. And when I did, the sun started shining through the thick clouds, illuminating bits and pieces of the church front and making me smile like I hadn’t in a long time. It was such an absolutely perfect moment. 

I don’t like heights. When I go to a high place and realize how far up I am, my legs start shaking, my hands start sweating and I feel like crying. The problem is that I like adventure, so what usually happens is that I’m the first one to say ‘Let’s go up!’ and the first one to get there and ask ‘who the hell dragged me into this’. 

Yesterday it was a bit like that. I spent half the morning telling T I wanted to climb to the top of the Duomo, but since we weren’t sure we could and we figured the view would be pretty up in the Campanario (the bell tower), we decide to go up. The lady at the front desk warned us that it was about 400 steps we’d have to climb, but I put on my biggest smile and told T that it would be easy peasy. And it was, up until the point where I saw the height of the damn tower, from above. 

The first floor freaked me out, and the second made me officially start to tremble. But we climbed on — I refused to give in — and ended up on the top of the tower, the bells sitting right above us, some even in our sight. And that’s when it started.

Noon. 

I yelped like the girl that I am, grabbed T’s arm while she laughed at my panic. For a second, I didn’t know what was going on — all I knew was that I was almost 80 meters off the ground, that it was extremely windy, that snow was getting in the tower through the windows and that this monstrosity of a bell was starting to ring immediately above my head, making my entire body vibrate with the sound. 

I was terrified and I was in complete awe. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t leave, so I just leaned against the wall and closed my eyes, felt the sound run through me and through the walls, making the tower tremble softly along with the wind. At one point, I picked up my camera and filmed it — I wanted to capture the sound, the preciousness of that moment, of everything involved. I was scared, and I was excited and laughing and just thinking that it was one of those perfect moments you read about, or watch movies about. And I had two of those in just one day. 

(I never said I was normal. normal is boring, anyway.)

I don't know if you've heard of the several places in the world (Pont des Arts, in Paris, being the most famous) where lovers leave their locks, as a symbol of their love. I've done it somewhere else, and to see it done here, as well, was absolutely wonderful. I was so giddy that I just smiled like a crazy person for about an hour. 

(above) Goldsmiths at Ponte Vecchia. I will never not be in awe of this kind of artwork. 

I hope you enjoyed these. It felt so amazing to have your feedback on the last post — keep talking? Let me know if you've been there, share your world with me!