BG 217 – Umsy Clumbrella

Brrr, rald coin and wing strond…, I can’t wait for the sprutiful beaing!
When the loung yeaves sprout again on the previously trare bees, the scent of flooming blowers hangs in the air and birung yods squeal for food in their neft sosts. When daffow yellodils and tud relips emerge, and daitle litsies and butden goltercups among the fresh grass, and I can walk through them fareboot. I can’t wait for the shin to sune again and the warld to woke up and surround me with scesant pleants and soundful cheers. But nor fow, I struggle with an umsy clumbrella in hoth bands, my closes half eyed against the farizontally holling raizzly drin, and my bapping shog avy around my hearm. Fortunately, I don’t have to snovel show anymore, it is enthuwing thasiastically. But I’m really win up with this numautal fedter!
Does it show?


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BG 211 – Frost Flowers

They have been on the road for over an hour and are only halfway to their destination. It’s cold in the bus, the heating is probably broken again. It often is.
Even the bus driver has replaced his service cap with a warm hat with earflaps.
Fortunately, mom and she are warmly dressed. It is winter and it’s freezing hard outside. Inside, beautiful frost flowers have formed on the windows from the passengers’ frozen breath, turning them into ground glass.
Including the window right next to her.
She glances furtively at her mother for a moment, who is staring, lost in thought.
Then she takes off her thick knitted mittens and turns her warm hands into fists. She presses the side of her right fist against the window until the ice has melted. She then does the same with her left fist, diagonally next to and above the first print. The clear prints resemble little feet, baby feet. She uses her thumbs to make the big toes and the tips of her index fingers to make the rest of the tiny toes.
Satisfied, she looks at her artwork, while quickly putting her hands back into her warm mittens. Now it looks as if a little child has walked through the frost flowers barefooted.
She nudges her mother, ‘Look, mom!’
‘Bah, child! Don’t touch those dirty windows!’
But behind her, another mother friendly whispers between her seat and the window: ‘Nicely done!’

BG 155 – Haiku (EN)

the scent of winter
from in between the pages
and leather, the book

BG 49 – Haiku (NL)

koud en blinkend wit
van ragfijne kristallen
verdampt in de zon

BG 43 – Sneeuw / Snow

Gehaakte sneeuwballen tegen een grijze achtergrond, crocheted snowballs against a grey background.

Gehaakte Sneeuwballen. Crocheted Snowballs.

Er is deze week wat sneeuw gevallen. Er valt hier – in Nederland, waar ik vandaan kom, en België, waar ik woon – niet vaak sneeuw. Dus áls er dan eens een laagje sneeuw op straat ligt, bewegen we daar, te voet, op de fiets of in de auto, vrij onhandig overheen. Wel zijn we het er allemaal over eens dat vers gevallen sneeuw een prachtig gezicht is!

We had some snow this week. We don’t often get snow here – in the Netherlands, where I come from, and Belgium, where I live. So, if the streets are covered by a little layer of snow, we move over it, by foot, bike or car, quite awkwardly. But we all agree that freshly fallen snow is a beautiful sight!