Days of snow

The last photos are inspired by a post of Claire's beautiful blog.

Dreams of snow

I grew up in south of France, where summers are hot and winters mild. To the child I was snow was a rare marvel. On a precious day of snow I asked my mum and dad “where is the land of snow?” “Siberia” answered they. Why Siberia amongst the world’s snowy places? … realm of bitter cold and as inaccessible as the Snow Queen’s palace. But since then, I dreamt for many years about Siberia as a bright snow jewel. Years came and went, the image changed, turned into a darker yet mysterious and desirable jewel.  And then I went, and went again. Snow had then little to do with it anymore, though I never considered going there in summertime … I was 19, and thought dreams were to be realized.
I had many dreams of course… become mother of six children, live in a house made of wood and glass … dreams that went with life, echo of  Lilli's words: “sometimes dreams become like old friends, to say goodbye can be hard, but necessary”.

I still marvel at snow…

First photo: Novosibirsk, March 1990

"Je vous écris d’un pays lointain : il se situe entre le Moyen Age et le XXIème siècle, entre la terre et la lune, entre l’humiliation et le bonheur, ensuite c’est tout droit". Chris Marker Lettre de Sibérie, 1958.

Memories from Japan. Random things in Kyoto. 京都

Flying origami crane

The fish and clouds photo is by Elsa

Memories from Japan. 天龍寺

天龍寺  was Elsa's favourite temple in Kyoto. She took there a lot of photos. 

Last photo by Elsa.

Snow petals

Last year, spring was in the air and Elsa a spring flower... today, Carnival was wintry and Elsa a ballerina, bouncy little snowflake.

Memories from Japan. Gold and silver 金と銀

My winter baby. Seven

 

Today, Elsa is seven. Happy birthday, my dear.

WHERE have I come from, where did you pick me up?" the baby asked its mother.
She answered half crying, half laughing, and clasping the baby to her breast, "You were hidden in my heart as its desire, my darling.
You were in the dolls of my childhood's games; and when with clay I made the image of my god every morning, I made and unmade you then.
You were enshrined with our household deity, in his worship I worshipped you.
In all my hopes and my loves, in my life, in the life of my mother you have lived.
In the lap of the deathless Spirit who rules our home you have been nursed for ages.
When in girlhood my heart was opening its petals, you hovered as a fragrance about it.
Your tender softness bloomed in my youthful limbs, like a glow in the sky before the sunrise.
Heaven's first darling, twin-born with the morning light, you have floated down the stream of the world's life, and at last you have stranded on my heart.
As I gaze on your face, mystery overwhelms me; you who belong to all have become mine.
For fear of losing you I hold you tight to my breast. What magic has snared the world's treasure in these slender arms of mine?"

Rabindranath Tagore.
The beginning in The crescent moon