Tuesday, September 15, 2009

A Picture from My Photo album

by Ingrid Prohaska

I can remember only a handful scenes with my grandfather. But I can remember quite well that he took me from my parent’s home once a weekend for a walk.

I was about three years that fall, but I can remember that scene as if it had happened yesterday. I see us walking through the wood, my grandpa held my left hand. My right hand swung with the rhythm of my steps. I wore my new ocher yellow wool-coat my mother had made for me. I can see the large pine-trees around swaying and rushing with the wind and the soft pine-needle-covered path we walked on; the roots of the trees rose out of the ground and the path was even so wide that two people could walk together.

Every time we had a rest in that small inn in the middle of the wood. The cottage was built half of stone and half of wood; it had two levels and an open but roofed room built on the house for the guests in the warm seasons. The daily business happened in the basement, the room in the higher level was only used for festivities. So we went downstairs into the warm dark wooded guest-room. The interior was simple and practical, but comfortable enough to sit in there for a long while. Opposite the entrance door on the left hand I can see the bar with all the bottles and I can also see that small show-case low enough that I could have a look into it. There they had the sweets and also the chocolates. One of them would be mine in a few moments. On the right hand there stood the jukebox. We normally sat down on the table left the door; my grandpa under the small window and I over the corner to him. The table right the door was occupied with regular guests, all male, drinking, chatting, laughing, playing cards.

Monday, September 14, 2009


by Ingrid Prohaska

tictoc tictoc
sink sink sink
tictoc tictoc
think think think
tictoc tictoc
a thing a thing a thing
tictoc tictoc

Copyright © 2009 Ingrid Prohaska

Saturday, September 12, 2009

The Story Of The Little Dancer

by Ingrid Prohaska

Once upon a time there was a little girl living in a small town. Everybody loved her. She was the sunshine of her family and had a lot of friends.

Time went by and the little girl started going to school. She was looking forward to learning whatever she could, because she felt she could become someone great. Sitting still wasn’t easy for her and sometimes she would rather have looked out of the window than follow the teacher. But she learned easily and so everyone was satisfied with her.

In course of time the others noticed that there was something different about her. They started watching her with suspicion. What could be the difference?

The little girl noticed that they were watching her and she started feeling insecure. She recognized that her friends were walking and running. But she was only able to move by - dancing.

Her friends felt strange about the way the little dancer moved. Some friends felt mercy with her, some others laughed at her “Look at her, she can’t move right!” The little dancer felt sad. “Why can’t I be like the others? The only thing I want is for the others to like me.”

So the little dancer began looking at her friends and she began studying, how they walked and ran. She really tried hard and she gave her best to walk and to run like her friends did. But although she tried so hard, it didn’t work. The others walked so well, that she couldn’t follow. She was always a few steps behind the others.

Time went by and the little dancer grew up. She had lost many of her friends, because she wasn’t really able to walk in the right way. She started looking for what was wrong with her. The more she tried walking like the others, the more she failed. She felt sad and unhappy. The friends she had when she was a child seemed so happy. They had their professions, they had founded their own families, they had already found their ways. The dancer tried to find her own way, but sometimes it seemed impossible for her to find her happiness.

She felt emptiness around her. But she was still dreaming about love and happiness. Her dreams became her biggest treasure. Sometimes she put on her dancing-shoes and danced secretly. All her sorrows were gone while she was dancing. She felt happy in these moments.

But time went by without finding her inside satisfaction. Although she was successful with her daily work, she always felt that she was missing something.

One evening the dancer looked at the stars. She often did this, while she was dreaming. One of the stars she liked more than the others. Its light seemed brighter than the light of all the other stars. And sometimes she thought that this one star was dancing.

"Starry Night over the Rhone" - Vincent van Gogh

Suddenly she heard the star speaking to her “Do you want to dance with me? Come on, dance with me” the star said. The dancer was surprised. “Dance with me” the star repeated “You are a dancer. And you look very beautiful when you dance.”

The dancer began to understand what had been wrong all the years. She put on her dancing-shoes and started dancing. And suddenly - she heard the music in her life.

She danced and so she found her happiness. And if she isn’t already dead, I’m sure she is still dancing today.

Copyright © 2007 Ingrid Prohaska


Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Just a Thought ... #1

Even an imprisoned soul has the desire to bloom.

(Photo taken in Vienna, 9th district)

Copyright © 2009 Ingrid Prohaska