Translucent purple petals lit from the late afternoon light.
The unique patterns and textures on quail eggs.
The elongated sculptures by the Swiss artist Alberto Giacometti (1901-1966).
The sound of corks popping out from bottles of Burgundy wine.
An encounter with long-lost friends at museums.
An old grandma's innocent smile of tranquillity and happiness.
A pretty fragrance lingering in the fall evening air.
It was around 2:30 am.
My hurrying footsteps were echoing around the empty platform, as I was making my way out of the subway station at SoHo stop. The air smelled like the breath of a drunkard–––sour, humid, and bitter. The unpleasant odor alerted me, and all of sudden I felt a bit uneasy. After all, the New York City subway is often naked in its danger, bewilderment, agitation.
The sound of my soles was absorbed by my increasing fear until I climbed up the stairs and saw the green subway lamp on Prince Street. Like Stan March in the cartoon South Park, it gave me a bright mischievous smile, and made me surprise into laugher.
At the instant moment, the fear was gone with the fresh, cool autumn breeze...
My old Moleskine sketchbooks.
The moon in a clear night.
The tofu cuisine in Kyoto.
The yellow ginko leave that have been pressed in the pages of a book.
The photo of a little red farm storage shed in Norwegian Lapland.
Rain poured down on the entire day, only in the late afternoon it decided to take a break. I left my Mac and books behind a closed door and went for a walk to the garden in the East Village.
I remember my last visit here when the late spring sun bore through the gorgeous clouds. The pink sakura petals were falling...And now all the colors were being carried away by the fall wind.
On the bamboo fences and criss-cross hedges I saw tatters of spider webs; and where the threads were broken the raindrops hung on them like strings of white pearls. I was also delighted by watching the raindrops rolling down of their own accord from the plants where they had lain so heavily.
There was something so enchanting in the sound and smell of the raindrops–––an invisible beauty with the lingering scent of true nature. What most impressed me was that they were not at all impressed.
My Mac tells me that it'll be sunny tomorrow, and I tell my Mac that I'm going to make the best out of it.
I'll whistle the song Always look on the bright side of life by Monty Python, while smelling the sunlight from leafy vegetables and plants in the Union Square farmer's market.