a day in the life of piano monkey

on nineth day of the new decade, i had a great pleasure of playing two beautiful piano quartets with friends here in england.  i live in a small village called chinley in derbyshire.  there is where minnows weave.  about 45 min or an hour away from manchester (depending whether you drive or do the train), we are just a little dot in the middle of the gentle hills, in the peak district, the second most visited national parks of the world.  i think the honour of 'most-visited' goes to mt. fuji.  in 'mainstreet' chinley, we have a carpet shop (it's been there for ages and i am yet not sure how it retains its business), a chemist's, a royal post office, a deli store (i have yet to set my foot in there- they opened up for almost a year now i think?), a curry shop, a newsagents, a laundromat and a corner shop.  ooh and a hair dresser's and a hypnotist's office.  we actually do not have a pub in the village, so for a pint, we need to walk about ten minute dow...

alponse mucha, one of the best of art nouveau, the grande style of fin de siecle. this is spring, from his four seasons series. (rest of the photos are monkey photos from here and there, around work-home route. i am rather proud of them) today the light was that of a pale, faintly-scented, young woman. the girl with brown ginger hair, feisty but she does not know yet. her beauty lies in fact she is oblivious to it. simply occupied with other treasures she finds on her way, she have not seen herself in the bubbling brooks nor calm pond, to see how she captivates her surroundings- the branches full of life, leaves and flowers, the clouds that provide gentle cover from bright daylight, the air that is hot, full of energy and vigor, seeking relief, looking for its mate. with the sudden blossoms everywhere, it is difficult to pick out which flowers are the most beautiful. i say though the bunched hyacinths are pretty, they are too intense, too close to the ground. easily missed and alm...

in pale blue light of the dawn such fragile light, as if it is made of frost, you are a marble statue. lines, still, gentle arcs, just as you are. graceful. like the trajectory of the loons gliding through the late autumnal sky. i dare to stir the silence slight haze of breath and slumber. it was unforeseen, proper magic. and i shall keep it in a safe place to enchant evaporate away from this physical state in your absence i cast the image on closed eyelids a proper bullet that goes through fast, light, shatters the old world like the cracked and broken old tv tube it is no longer possible to gaze with an old view as life pulses through the warmth of the blood spreads, like spiderweb, like frosts on glass, capillaries, carrying millions of colours words sounds touches i am stained with the very being of you.

things have been all kinds of colours lately, changing through the courses of the day- the warmest yellow of the morning to the opaque grey of rain clouds- reminiscent of april, sharp contrasting burning orange of the sun cracking through the haze of spitting rain, the blue-grey sky set on fire with magenta bright dusk and the deepest velvety royal blue of the night. and the way the fire crackles in the dark. now, am i referring to the actual fire or mr. salamander? ay- i guess you will never know. do i know? well, i should but would i? ah. not so important. just thought i would throw that out there in case you were wondering what fair creatures ive been watching. baa lambs are rather special though. esp. when wearing a neon pink coats. i still have no idea what that's bout, but nearby fiddler lady tells me it's a weathercoats for the young-uns. well. that's style for you. pink. for sheeps. gosh. the high peak district, where i am staying now, is also full of little si...