What Remains - IV

An ancient, towering tree...  I used to pass it by, but this morning something made me stop. The tree lived its own quiet life—draped in cobwebs, harboring a beehive in its hollow trunk, its bark scattered with withered petals.

Everything about it spoke of passage and decay—fragile, fleeting, and yet breathtakingly beautiful in its quiet grace.

*** 

The photo above is my attempt to capture Wabi-sabi—its impermanence, aging, fragility, and quiet beauty.

Summer Stories. A Short Rest

Summer Stories. First Swimming Lessons

 

First swimming lessons with an older sister—this is something the boy will surely remember for the rest of his life.

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My father taught me to swim in the Baltic Sea, where our family spent the summer in the small Lithuanian seaside town of Palanga.  

That same summer, I was given a "Shkolnik"—a bicycle designed for boys—and my father taught me to ride it, showing me how to swing my leg over the saddle just like a boy would.

Our memories...  We need them to live; they are our fuel, warming us from within. 

The First Butterfly

 

Where are all the butterflies—the bright ones with the huge wings? Why haven't I come across them yet this summer? Is it because of this merciless, grueling heat that drying almost everything in its path?

And yet, here is the first, a solitary July butterfly, delicate and simple, with a strange name - the Cabbage White butterfly.