Stealing Sunshine...

Image taken from www.mombasainfo.com

One of my favorite blogs to visit is: http://mycastleinspain.blogspot.com/

I kid you not, this woman delights my heart! She is amazing...creative, thoughtful and bright. I've never met her, but I'm always excited to see what new things she has created, or new places she has visited. I admire her style and she lives with gusto--in color--in joy. I'm sure she is just like the rest of us and has her blue moments, her sadnesses and her disappointments...but she inspires me to create more...to live more...and to do so in fulness and not in mediocrity.

I strongly recommend her blog if you are looking for something different and new...something unique and exciting...but I digress through my commendations...

My point...and there was a point...LOL...was to share a poem, that I read on her blog a little while back. It is in French with an English translation. This comes from her site...but I had to share it on mine as well, because for me...it captures summertime and the joy that burbles through the clouds and the music that fills the air if we will but take a moment to stop--and to listen--to feel.

I love this poem in French...I love it in English.
It captures summer evenings--the smell of charcoal, fire, wood and meat...grass and water. Sunshine ebbing as eventide comes on and the way our noses follow the delightful scents of someone else's dinner...or if you are lucky...your own!

Les viandes grillent en plein vent, les sauces se composent
et la fumee remonte les chemins a vif et rejoint qui marchait.
A lors le Songeur aux joues sales
se tire d'un vieux songe tout raye de violences, de ruses et d'eclats,
et orne de suers, vers l'odeur de la viande
il descend
comme un femme qui traine: ses toiles, tout son ligne
et ses cheveux defaits

Meats broil in the open air, sauces are brewing
and the smoke goes up the raw paths and overtakes someone walking.
Then the Dreamer with dirty cheeks
comes slowly out of
an old dream all streaked with violences, wiles and splendour,
and jeweled in sweat, toward the odour of meat
he descends
like a woman trailing: her linen, all her clothes, and her hanging hair.

(Translation by Louise Varese-she made such a super job of capturing and translating the exact tone of Saint-John perse, the English translation is as enjoyable as the original text)