Dreaming of wind in the hair while riding new waves...silent nights sleeping with the sea and deep evenings lulled by the sundown.
Thousands of stars for a ceiling...
One day. One day.
Just like my last name says.
Un giorno.Un giorno.Cosi come dice il mio cognome.
Sogni di sere in cui il soffitto sono le stelle. E di notti passate insieme al mare e al vento del mare.
This song. I used to listen to this music from the Native Americans a lot when I was a teenager. I really felt a connection. No there was no Britney Spears or Madonna for me, but this music.I loved it, it transcended my everyday life.It made me feel like a free eagle in the sky.
Look at the images and then listen only to the music,can´t you feel a connection?
Ascoltavo questa canzone quando avevo 12 anni, non Britney Spears o Madonna, ma queste musiche degli indiani d´America. Guarda le immagini, poi chiudi gli occhi e ascolta...non ti senti come un´aquila che sorvola immensi spazi?
The Polish side of my family buried all of their wealth before fleeing Poland. The older generations say that they were *very* wealthy and always thought that they’d return to find it…except no one knows where this supposed treasure trove is. My Mom and I always say that she’s a princess and I’m a princess-in-waiting because we clearly come from royalty and if we could only find that loot….
I also like to think about someone buying whatever property my family use to have and digging a hole for a garden or pond or something and finding a stash of jewels.
When I was a teen in the 1970s I learned my family had a tenuous connection to the Salem Witch Trials. I leaped on that bit of information and told people I was descendant from a witch, not really taking into consideration the horror of those trials, or the fact that innocent people died because of such stupidity. Many years later I learned that the distant relative was Ann Putnum, one of the young girls who started the hysteria (she would later express remorse for her part in the trials). I had long since stopped commenting about the witch in my family, and I never did trace the accuracy of the lineage, but I did feel pains of sorrow for my previous ignorance and boasting.
My father is fond of telling me about the black sheep of our family, somewhere back in the line who wrote and published a version of the Bible, which was deemed by the English King at the time (I have my suspicions as to which one) to be blasphemous and subsequently banned. Apparently there’s a copy left in a museum somewhere in Europe. And so I am able to trace my creative writing genes…
Girando per internet, mentre ascolto dei podcast e cerco ispirazione dai blog ho trovato questo post, interessante,
qui la domanda 'e # quale frase ti ricordi essere riferita ai tuoi predecessori?#
