Captured Moments Blog

Like footprints in the sand which slowly fade away, my thoughts swiftly flow through, whilst the wind blows my sun scorched face here in Golden Bay. The sea, symphonically rushing its way through the pebbles which rest upon the sea bed. Nothing to see accept the sun, slowly fading away in the horizon reflecting its warmth for the last moments of the day. I look up towards the skies, and all I can see is a tower, which like a chameleon has adapted to its surroundings maybe to protect itself, to survive through the turmoil of time and mankind’s greed for power.

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My current fixation with doors has dragged me down once again to Valletta, and for another time I have discovered new angles, new sides which hath remained in the dark for all the time when I visited. Today the light sheds from the warmth of the “lanterns” that have inspired me to look within even further. Accompanied by two friends to observe or appreciate further the magnificence of this place we moved along the narrow streets.

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In pairs we walk through the tunnel, contained through a rusting fence, prohibited from moving around within a diameter of a maximum of 5, maybe 7 meters. The wooden benches carved and tattered, aged through the passage of time and the weathering of this anguished environment, dirty, filthy, unwelcoming. The walls, dug out by the blowing winds of winter and scraped by the scorching rays of summer, a process recalled by these walls for ages. The obscene frescoes on these walls are the only most recent addition which contrary to the rest seem to increase as more of us pass by through the years. Graffiti that display history, nationality and maybe even state of mind.

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In here like an ant I rest, until the next stop, meters below the ground, I travel looking at them who in turn look back to me. No one to talk to, no one to smile to. An individualistic life, a being, a breeding host, traveling together and apart, at the same time.

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Listening to the ticking sound of an old clock, resting on a table now empty, wondering on thy past. Sensing the smell of a pie who’s creator rests within the world of dreams. Beside me on this table, carved with with a knife called time, rests a bunch of apples, as small as a bunch of wild berries, which in Maltese we call a “Merh”.

The window, wide open letting the cool breeze inside, helping my pencil through its scribbling symphony, wondering what else to draw, wishing no end for this timeless moment.

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No it was Earth Garden organized at the National park in Malta. Visited on Saturday, even though it was grey, rainy and windy. The sun, hidden within a mile thick cloud as grey as a navy vessel, the droplets of rain almost defying the rules of gravity.

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All right so it’s a sunny day and it turns out to be one after a detrimental four day long foggy type of weather which does not permit you to see up to a distance of a few kilometers (Maybe I am too sarcastic here). So together with my wife we decided to make a visit to the old city and enjoy the sun there and chilling out. Grabbed the Cam and off we went.

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Once again I decided to dedicate some of my time for my now aged website so here I go again with some new features and a new style. I like to experiment a little and myself not being a coder makes it more intriguing to get a straight line or to simply add a roll over image.

For some it might look ok for others jakk but here it goes. At least I hope that you will appreciate the images after all that is my main objective. I just wanted to keep it simpe, attractive and at the same time easily “updateable”.

I am working on a new project called Malta which with it I hope to give the nicest angles of this island each folder dedicated to a place that inspired me. Don’t much many folders and locations to come.

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There is no one to wave to, and as I am slowly lifted to the second level towards passport control I ask myself if there is really anything to check, I pass through like an ant through Porte des bombes. The stillness in the area is unbelievable, the fluorescent tube just on top of me flashes through its intermittent behavior as if trying to survive its last moments of shine, the plants green but lifeless. The British white haired couples settled in an un-organized method on the seats remaining in the departures lounge, myself in an un-obstructed angle, anxious but calm, waiting and observing.

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Listening to Michael Buble in my car, looking out of the window, wondering about the sky above me, waiting for the ferry to come and take me to the other side, towards the peaceful island of Gozo. The island that inspires me, that keeps me close to my thoughts.Gozo is my escape, the cushion that cuddles me, the nurse that has taken care of me the first time I saw the external world. Gozo forms part of the three islands being the second largest of the three; however it has kept its character and history. In winter Gozo is like the flourishing freshness of a flower. And now that March is over, I see that nature is preparing for the hotter season yet to come.

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