Saudade

 'Saudade (English: /ˌsaʊˈdɑːdə/,[1] European Portuguese: [sɐwˈðaðɨ], Brazilian Portuguese: [sawˈdad(ʒ)i], Galician: [sawˈðaðɪ]; plural saudades)[2] 

is a deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound melancholic longing for an absent something or someone that one cares for and/or loves. Moreover, it often carries a repressed knowledge that the object of longing might never be had again. It is the recollection of feelings, experiences, places, or events that once brought excitement, pleasure, and well-being, which now trigger the senses and make one experience the pain of separation from those joyous sensations. However it acknowledges that to long for the past would detract from the excitement you feel towards the future. Saudade describes both happy and sad at the same time, which is most closely translated to the English saying ‘bitter sweet’.'

'..a yearning for a happiness that has passed, or perhaps never even existed.'

Nostalgia for a past, inhabited by people, places, objects, that perhaps never even existed.

Reading Dickens and longing for the wild and overgrown dusty Kentish lanes that were never actually experienced.

Looking at photographs, lived in, experienced, how can the feelings evoked be expressed? 

 

the white cat

Three pomegranates

three pomegranates
on the wooden table
autumn's colours

horizons

autumn

As I was saying..

It's been a year, but there has been writing and drawing and photography. And now there is Zen and Treeleaf and Ango and Jukai and even sewing. And there's still Art of Mindfulness and now Stop, look, breathe, create and instagram. So I could fill up some pages with old stuff and still there's new stuff.

Brittle, fading,
Leaves slip sadly from the vine.
Still, I sweep.

Awake August #18

Scratchy heatblasted  August, early summer's fecundity has withered with the already falling leaves.There are no flowers to offer, only these mediterranean gifts, some basil and parsley and a few small olive branches and their reminder of peace and hope.

Awake August #17

The oscillating fan is a lighthouse, sending out beams of coolness that cut and slice the dark heavy heat.

Awake August 16

Preparing lunch in the honeyed light of the kitchen, my husband sanding wood in the next room, a cat weaving around my legs, the 12.30 bus revving up the hill, and the squeak of garlic against knife.

Awake August 15

While celebrating the full moon with a simple ceremony, I breath the fragrant weight and completeness of the cup, the warmth of the circle within and without, endless spaciousness in my hands.

Awake August 14

Skeins of cloud usher in a cooler morning; the fridge hums a happier song.

Awake August 13

Grey falls like a soft blanket over the blue, summer raindrops thud slowly onto the garden umbrella.

Awake August 12

Pausing, I stood between the damp billowing sheets, enjoying their cool lavender caress.

Awake August 11

Making tea I realise that part of the intrinsic pleasure is cupping the warm body of the teapot, feeling how its roundness fits into the palm of my hand.

Awake August 10

Three small butterflies dance along the geranium hedge, accompanied by the music of the city and the unwavering attention of the white cat.

Awake August 9

On the vets table she is stilled by fear, her eyes, usually an inscrutable jade, are huge and deeply black in her small triangle face. Holding her, I feel her heart pounding like a tiny drum. She suffers in profound silence.

Awake August 8

Rival gangs of young blackbirds fighting raucously for figs scatter suddenly to their separate roofs. The cat is sneaking up the tree.

Awake August 7

Washing the dishes - loving and revisiting and remembering the texture and colour of each item, its history, its use, the feel of it in water and out - knowing that I'm washing the dishes.

Awake August 6

Grating cucumber, the smell of cool green

Awake August 5

The landscape of siesta, late afternoon sun setting on a crumpled bed of roses.