Como quem num dia de verão

abre uma porta...

Como quem num dia de Verão abre a porta de casa

E espreita para o calor dos campos com a cara toda,


Às vezes, de repente, bate-me a Natureza de chapa

Na cara dos meus sentidos,


E eu fico confuso, perturbado, querendo perceber

Não sei bem como nem o quê...


Mas quem me mandou a mim querer perceber?

Quem me disse que havia que perceber?

Quando o Verão me passa pela cara

A mão leve e quente da sua brisa,


Só tenho que sentir agrado porque é brisa

Ou que sentir desagrado porque é quente,


E de qualquer maneira que eu o sinta,

Assim, porque assim o sinto, é que é meu dever senti-lo...

Alberto Caeiro

James Taylor's secrets of life

Tempo

Luz do Sol

Luz do sol

Que a folha traga e traduz

Em verde novo

Em folha, em graça, em vida, em força, em luz!

(Caetano Veloso)

IF

(foto Maramar)

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

Rudyard Kipling

Lume

Resta