Every instant is Still.

My friend Boro recommended that I look at a poem by Antonio Machado (1875-1939), a famous poet from the city of Sevilla. The rich landscape of his childhood in Andalucía became the subject of much of his work. Machado died while fleeing through the Pyrenees during the Spanish Civil War at the age of 64.
I particularly liked his “Proverbs and Songs”. Read a couple below.
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Between living and dreaming
there is a third thing.
Guess it.
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In my solitude
I have seen things very clearly
that were not true.
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But art?
It is pure and intense play,
so it is like pure and intense life,
so it is like pure and intense fire.
You’ll see the coal burning.
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He also wrote the title of this post.
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Boro's favorite poem by Machado, called “The Wind, One Brilliant Day”:

The wind, one brilliant day, called
to my soul with an odor of jasmine.

“In return for the odor of my jasmine,
I’d like all the odor of your roses.”

“I have no roses, all of the flowers
in my garden are dead.”

“Well then I’ll take the withered petals
and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain.”

the wind left. And I wept. And I said to my self,
“What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?”