To my English-speaking readers

I owe you an apology. I have started posting in other languages than English and in a different way   just for the sake of it, because I felt like doing it. After all, this is my blog, isn't it? However, I wanted to give you some explanation. In the future, I am going to use the language that strikes my fancy at the moment I sit to write or depending on the addressee I have in mind. The purpose of the blog will continue to be related to my parenting voyage and my children.

I come from watching my children sleeping. Both of them. I have been watching her first, then him, in order of appearance in my life. Eyes closed, even breathe, blanket up to the chin. She looks younger when she sleeps for when she is awake language takes most of the time and attention. He looks older when he sleeps for then I realize how long he is. Already crawling fast and attempting to stand, this boy of mine who arrived to my womb unexpectedly and into outside life dangerously. He has absolutely captivated us, I must admit. Two babies. Two little people with whom I spend, as of late at least, all my hours.

I have also watched the big boy. He deserves a rest so much. A rest and loads of nutritious food. He has lost weight and looks grave in this beard. No time even to shave.

TIME: We need you on our side.
"Give us your hands, if we be friends, and we shall restore amends"


GOOD NIGHT (UN)TO YOU ALL

PITUS PORUM

Em fascinen les fulles dels arbres. Em podria estar observant el moviment de les fulles de l'àlber hores i més hores. En les copes dels arbres jo hi visc. Admiro el seu lloc privilegiat a prop del cel.

Cau una fulla. Lentament. Com un pes lleuger que se sap sense pressa perquè inevitablement ha d'acabar arran de terra. Li queda, però, la vivència d'haver estat aire enllà.

Sota una palmera em preguntava la Marina si era un Pitus porum. A banda d'un arbust, a la nostra escola el Pitus porum és una estona de compartir. De possibilitat de compartir. I de despertar els sentits.

Hem descobert l'esclat de les prunes. Les hem tastat. Escoltat el so oriental del monocordi. Ensumat flaires d'èspècies i cafè. Mirat un conte.

Penso ara en el tacte. Imagino un joc en el que els dits tenen el luxe de passar per una fusta suau, per l'aspror de la llengua d'un gat, acaronar la calidesa d'un tros de vellut, la frescor de la pedra, sentir les pessigolles de gespa fresca, el morro d'un gos. L'aigua glaçada del riu, un panet acabat de sortir del forn. Estrényer una altra mà humida i petita. Rebre la carícia d'una fulla de mimosa.