When the Sunlight is Too Bright
Sometimes the Sky’s Too Bright
Sometimes the sky’s too bright,
Or has too many clouds or birds,
And far away’s too sharp a sun
To nourish thinking of him.
By Dylan Thomas
This year is the centenary of the birth of the Welsh poet Dylan Thomas (Swansea, October 27th 1914)
His poignant poem ‘Sometimes the Sky’s Too Bright’, was part of the so-called notebook poems, written between 1930-1932, because he wrote them in ‘penny notebooks’.
The poet is telling us is that sometimes life is too intense, or our feelings are overwhelming, and in spite of the light, we can’t see things clearly.
Other times, there are dull, or sad moments, when we long for the brightness of the sharp sun which seems so far away…
These photographs capture the moment of the domineering and insistent sun is overpowering our field of vision, so we can’t look at the sky, nor see anything, because its powerful and greedy rays absorb everything in its path.
I prefer a smooth and soothing evening sky myself, tinged with pinks and corals if possible… Don’t you?
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THE SIMPLE THINGS IN LIFE
Extraordinary things, rarely happen.
It’s the Little Things we see, hear and do every day life livable or unbearable.
Simple things become extraordinary if you let them…
These are the little things I saw this morning on my way to work which made me arrive with a smile on my face and the need to write it all down and let you know about it:
Flowers hanging from a balcony.
A narrow cobbled street with potted geraniums hanging from the whitewashed walls.
Children with satchels on their way to school.
Water trickling from a spout, filling a marble fountain in ‘Patio de los naranjos’ Orange -Tree Square, by the Mosque.
The sun struggling with playful clouds. (By the way, the sun finally managed to break through!)
Pretty necklaces in a shop window.
Someone walking his happy dog in the park.
All these things make my simple morning special!
Which are the simple things you see and do in the mornings which make your day special?
Have a look at some of the other posts on Simplicty
Spatial and Temporal Perspectives
She ran upstairs to cry in her room, then crept up to the loft, where she unlocked the latch, and opened the window onto the roof. She drew in a sharp breath and the cool breeze dried her tears. She put her head against the brick chimney, remembering the young sweep who had been burnt inside. She still hears his screams in the silence of the dark evening.
She ran upstairs, then crept up to the loft, where she unlocked the latch and opened the window onto the roof, to play hide and seek. She drew in a sharp breath, pulled her legs out and wrapped her arms around the obsolete chimney, unaware that young sweeps might have got stuck, or even suffocated inside, just a century ago. Instead she looked over the city, twinkling against the rosy evening sky, and smiled as the tiny plane raced across the horizon.
Photo taken from the rooftop window of a Victorian house in south London, last year.
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I wanted to seize that ephemeral moment of a splash with my camera. So I picked up a seashell I had brought back home from the beach, threw it in my pool, and captured the splash. The whitish circle on the left of the photo is the seashell, which caused the ripples and now rests at the bottom of the pool. The helpless shell plunged into the saltless mass of water, which will have to adapt to the chorine and the tiles, represents the displacement experienced by someone thrust into another culture, who will have to adapt or die. The ripples are the memory of the journey…
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I took this photo six years ago on the 1st of January some time between 7 and 8 o’clock in the morning. The sun had just risen over the horizon where the Atlantic Ocean embraces a group of tiny islands, anchored to the centre of the Earth by towering volanoes. It was the first day of a new year. A symbolic representation of a new beginning. The start of a a new life which ends every evening, as the sun slips through the groove which will open another, new day, in a distant land.
The sight is so beautiful I close my eyes and try to hear the Earth vibrating. I can smell the busy waves and taste the roaming breeze on my undressed skin. The soothing sun melts my thoughts into foaming bubbles which dissolve in the edge. I’m on holiday. I can rush down to the beach and sink my feet in the sand, or roll into the water like a pebble. I could also stay and listen to the beauty of the early morning, take a picture, and write about it years later, because life begins every morning…
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