Foggy days and foggy nights, Fish swimming in the slippery mist, Hidden cars and creatures from the sides of our eyes, Electric whisper mixing within the engine roars.
As I drive, my mind wanders to Windmills like a circle in a spiral Music cycle in a turn of a dream
This is Albert’s World. Welcome you to a tour of interesting places.
You can visit one of my many blogs:
You can read some of my old Writings here: Writings
You can go to my presence on net:
By Xu Zhimo
Softly I am leaving,
Just as softly as I came;
I softly wave goodbye
To the clouds in the western sky.
The golden willows by the riverside
Are young brides in the setting sun;
Their glittering reflections on the shimmering river
Keep undulating in my heart.
The green tape grass rooted in the soft mud
Sways leisurely in the water;
I am willing to be such a waterweed
In the gentle flow of the River Cam.
That pool in the shade of elm trees
Holds not clear spring water, but a rainbow
Crumpled in the midst of duckweeds,
Where rainbow-like dreams settle.
To seek a dream? Go punting with a long pole,
Upstream to where green grass is greener,
With the punt laden with starlight,
And sing out loud in its radiance.
Yet now I cannot sing out loud,
Peace is my farewell music;
Even crickets are now silent for me,
For Cambridge this evening is silent.
Quietly I am leaving,
Just as quietly as I came;
Gently waving my sleeve,
I am not taking away a single cloud.
(6 November 1928)
Round like a circle in a spiral,
like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning on an
ever spinning reel
Like a snowball down a mountain,
or a carnival balloon
Like a carousel that's turning
running rings around the moon
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of its face
And the world is like an apple whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind
Like a tunnel that you follow
To a tunnel of its own
Down a hollow to a cavern
Where the sun has never shone
Like a door that keeps revolving
In a half-forgotten dream
Or the ripples from a pebble
Someone tosses in a stream
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping
Past the minutes of its face
And the world is like an apple
Whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind
Keys that jingle in your pocket
Words that jangle in your head
Why did summer go so quickly?
Was it something that you said?
Lovers walk along a shore
And leave their footprints in the sand
Is the sound of distant drumming
Just the fingers of your hand?
Pictures hanging in a hallway
And the fragment of a song
Half-remembered names and faces
But to whome do they belong?
When you knew that it was over
You were suddenly aware
That the autumn leaves were turning
To the color of her hair
Like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning
On an ever-spinning reel
As the images unwind
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind
Songwriters: Alan Bergman / Marylin Bergman / Michel Legrand
On a quiet summer morning,
when the birds whisper their stories,
The wind waves the branches and leaves around,
The sun filters her light through the window shutters
I wonder where I’ve been,
Work - projects - for a living, these 30 years,
At last, I learn to move as a bushido,
practice waza (hero), yellow belts, and the determined.
my mind is young, yet my body creaks and groans.
Inexorably, I go on.
Imaginatio, xiangxiangli, sozo-ryoku, verbeelding,
Whatever tongue it is expressed as,
drives me to a place, a metropolis in my mind’s eye.
where my characters tells me what they want and need,
and I counsel them to play nice, take turns, and show.
On this quiet, windy morning,
I write. I sing. I dream.