tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24738960333906223532024-03-19T07:45:23.984+00:00TambasiàreEn definición de Montalbano, tambasiàre: pasear de cuarto en cuarto sen propósito definido, ocupándose en miudezasCristina Novoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15091363434208107387noreply@blogger.comBlogger204125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473896033390622353.post-53934187872948749502022-03-02T23:22:00.003+00:002022-03-02T23:22:40.911+00:00Camiñar a area<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEijsp3vohP8wk_fzQsfe6fWDcsuXPc-KfdRZ8kEtIHq8R5SedSOlSlaXdG8FvoKrwyc053v1bxpPO9qGgOyzHOXq1UyZqvI7lBZnj29IM2EryIg6kgr5LGAcyTIfsU6AyVoTklLvHF_X0Vy4ZgDvUVcdnAAVkXpjzcq5uQTLzd-7s2TSW6Ehd9wuDSa=s2000" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1333" data-original-width="2000" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEijsp3vohP8wk_fzQsfe6fWDcsuXPc-KfdRZ8kEtIHq8R5SedSOlSlaXdG8FvoKrwyc053v1bxpPO9qGgOyzHOXq1UyZqvI7lBZnj29IM2EryIg6kgr5LGAcyTIfsU6AyVoTklLvHF_X0Vy4ZgDvUVcdnAAVkXpjzcq5uQTLzd-7s2TSW6Ehd9wuDSa=w640-h427" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">Non sei cantas cousas sana este camiñar pola area cando o mar está bravo... </span><br /><p></p>Cristina Novoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15091363434208107387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473896033390622353.post-28246887269545741732022-03-02T22:58:00.008+00:002022-03-02T22:59:21.257+00:00Tarde luminosa de amizade e mar<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhIYlEbrWORig5AHI02QUqK3_cvEEqLtglB3TNnhCnH2zToqhjXyVyNgPojTOhIJlGtTcfUkv9kYp796SEzw6CLymQwD-wR6IWPIXn73j2Wbl9nObZGT8-nGP9gG25IoNfMEFj0P3QAiclGGIPUqe4UMlUjck6FGvaDW-ct43eHBTEVGB00u1hI2QpT=s2000" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1333" data-original-width="2000" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhIYlEbrWORig5AHI02QUqK3_cvEEqLtglB3TNnhCnH2zToqhjXyVyNgPojTOhIJlGtTcfUkv9kYp796SEzw6CLymQwD-wR6IWPIXn73j2Wbl9nObZGT8-nGP9gG25IoNfMEFj0P3QAiclGGIPUqe4UMlUjck6FGvaDW-ct43eHBTEVGB00u1hI2QpT=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></div><br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">Volvín a camiñar pola costa da Barbanza cunha amiga esencial e única, á que me unen vivencias, querencias, palabras e silencios. Despois duns anos sen vérmonos, cada unha coa súa mochila un pouquiño máis chea, pero tamén máis libre dalgúns pesos innecesarios, vivimos xuntas unha tarde de luz e mar como tantas veces atrás, enchendo os pulmóns do aire vivificante que trae o Atlántico, agatuñando polas penas como cabuxas. </span><br /><p></p>Cristina Novoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15091363434208107387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473896033390622353.post-12383253248998205952022-02-10T18:41:00.002+00:002022-02-10T18:41:39.243+00:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhtRuxPR_6QKPlzzaR5G3ZqJLS40u0Zk_qR9JZjzfMimlxpZ_KeayfRYfFaar-k6pAmjkPRV6-MI4L8Sm8L_RHHi6MtleSz29ZRFU-Wh4okf96QbCYibySVHhiQ0Hu0FE5lN1ZihMokdRKsORFPpyKoT5BYMQvLzFc6HfxUKFrYtBTp-AiO3yzk0Hov=s6000" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhtRuxPR_6QKPlzzaR5G3ZqJLS40u0Zk_qR9JZjzfMimlxpZ_KeayfRYfFaar-k6pAmjkPRV6-MI4L8Sm8L_RHHi6MtleSz29ZRFU-Wh4okf96QbCYibySVHhiQ0Hu0FE5lN1ZihMokdRKsORFPpyKoT5BYMQvLzFc6HfxUKFrYtBTp-AiO3yzk0Hov=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Hai xa máis de quince días desta imaxe e aínda lembro a luz e a caloriña da amizade de quen até alí me levou. </span><br /></p>Cristina Novoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15091363434208107387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473896033390622353.post-11963448585112643942020-12-04T18:13:00.000+00:002020-12-04T18:13:09.853+00:00Nostalxia de luz<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBMdAxp2b7_BKFqnrjqUqcAUj5Jew3Dg5rE5YE8VGPuXtSpeHtovIkU1k9CwS6cxkP5Ujk6QnJz58g0aSmHgkWmdq448NFHNtx8UVQKZPDZ1KbWLFyTeCHhqW2IjxQJmNyUxbBa6zE0s4/s2000/IMG_0918_rec2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="1056" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBMdAxp2b7_BKFqnrjqUqcAUj5Jew3Dg5rE5YE8VGPuXtSpeHtovIkU1k9CwS6cxkP5Ujk6QnJz58g0aSmHgkWmdq448NFHNtx8UVQKZPDZ1KbWLFyTeCHhqW2IjxQJmNyUxbBa6zE0s4/w338-h640/IMG_0918_rec2.JPG" width="338" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Era un día luminoso de comezos de setembro, nordés soprando forte e limpando a atmosfera, temperatura alta. Aínda era verán, ese verán estraño no que agardabamos saír da pandemia e retomar as nosas vidas en suspenso. </span><br /></p>Cristina Novoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15091363434208107387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473896033390622353.post-77150985702077038332020-05-20T18:33:00.002+01:002020-05-20T18:34:16.587+01:00Apenas catro meses atrás...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Unha tarde de xaneiro, aínda no descanso do inverno, pasei unha tarde de chuvia na casa, xogando coa cámara, na aventura de buscar unha imaxe para unha actividade, que puidera representar a diversidade, a alegría, a colaboración, os matices, o protagonismo de mulleres valentes, a cohesión, o analóxico máis aló do dixital, a innovación nas cousas sinxelas pero eficaces... e houbo cartel e difundiuse... e logo veu o GRAN PARÓN, e aló foi todo... pero ninguén me quita esa tarde de pracer e descubertas.</span></div>
Cristina Novoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15091363434208107387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473896033390622353.post-84331501347008965352020-05-10T12:16:00.000+01:002020-05-10T12:16:20.664+01:00Miradas gatunas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ás veces, é difícil aguantar a mirada a unha gata. Entre o misterio, a interrogación, a súplica, a recriminación... a cousa é que Klara quer saír e non pode. Aprendeu a mirar así para romperme o corazón, ben o sei. </span></div>
Cristina Novoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15091363434208107387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473896033390622353.post-22532675693297471862020-04-18T13:37:00.000+01:002020-04-18T13:37:35.137+01:00Retrato de interior<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Cristina Novoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15091363434208107387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473896033390622353.post-64561281433607334782020-04-04T20:50:00.001+01:002020-04-18T13:38:45.741+01:00Unha nube, unha árbore, unha luz<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ás veces algo chama desde a fiestra e non sabes moi ben que é, unha luz que pasa, unha nube, unha folla que se move... estás esperta apenas, só o móbil á man para intentar deter ese destello... </span>Cristina Novoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15091363434208107387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473896033390622353.post-2530047836657456002020-03-19T12:06:00.000+00:002020-04-18T13:39:00.316+01:00Primavera estraña<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Estas floriñas pequenas alegran unha esquina da maceteira mentres o resto aínda está espreguizándose. Ao mirar para fóra, nesta primavera estraña, a mirada pousa nos gromos que pulan por abriren, nas follas novas das árbores urbanas que comezan a verdear, e andan despistadas con tanto silencio.</span></div>
Cristina Novoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15091363434208107387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473896033390622353.post-1983895867396187832020-03-16T19:57:00.001+00:002020-04-18T13:39:15.803+01:00A poesía que nos salva. Día 3 do "encerramento". <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Dia longo de máis. Traballo desde a casa, videoconferencia, primeiras instrucións para axeitar o modo "teletraballo", revisión dos procesos que están a medias, das cousas máis urxentes, do que cómpre iniciar. E para que o traballo non o coma todo, á tarde, lectura pendente de poemarios que agardan. Ao final, hai que ir beber ás fontes máis antigas para acougar a sede. Vou!</span></div>
Cristina Novoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15091363434208107387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473896033390622353.post-30245834417020211882020-03-14T18:56:00.002+00:002020-04-18T13:39:29.096+01:00Klara exploradora. Día 1 do "encerramento". <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Este día estraño no que algo pasa e non sei o que é... sacáronme un xoguete á terraza, para ver se así non escapo. Non me fai moita graza, pero cando non me vén xogo un pouco cos colgarexos. Estase ben aquí, o sol xa quenta un pouco e hai moitos escondedoiros... </span></i>Cristina Novoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15091363434208107387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473896033390622353.post-27420634156807215822020-03-08T11:35:00.000+00:002020-03-08T11:35:12.364+00:00Verticalidade<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Un pau chantado na area, un paxaro que desexa voar e, atrancado, estira o pescozo cara o azul, un ollo agoniado... </span>Cristina Novoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15091363434208107387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473896033390622353.post-56657093976117811642020-02-22T19:56:00.001+00:002020-02-22T19:58:01.973+00:00Cruzámonos<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Cruzámonos ao longo da vida con persoas moi diversas, dalgunhas nin nos decatamos; outras parece que sempre van estar aí, que imos volver compartir con elas, en calquera momento, a nosa mirada sobre o mundo: mañá non, pero ao mellor o mes que vén, ou dentro de tres meses; nin o pensamos porque non forman parte do círculo máis proximo, pero si son parte da parte de mundo que nos gusta... e resulta que non, que un día vanse sen avisar e déixanche unha fonda tristeza. </span></div>
Cristina Novoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15091363434208107387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473896033390622353.post-9757217546521160822020-02-15T11:41:00.000+00:002020-02-15T11:44:09.334+00:00Xogos de infancia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh52h9zvaHDOSre21P4oz4ad3fvALxJeKb9w5ts0c3ZdI8-BdhquBj93RSIbQmiyk6tqNBUM0gSXshT87jt2LcbQSFdstKxhPzTC7oJWPs32Xv7mOCZ25qD5w_hvYIRzGgZedffpKDGCgA/s1600/IMG_0185_bnpetit.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh52h9zvaHDOSre21P4oz4ad3fvALxJeKb9w5ts0c3ZdI8-BdhquBj93RSIbQmiyk6tqNBUM0gSXshT87jt2LcbQSFdstKxhPzTC7oJWPs32Xv7mOCZ25qD5w_hvYIRzGgZedffpKDGCgA/s640/IMG_0185_bnpetit.JPG" width="425" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Unha das lembranzas iniciais da miña infancia: véxome no patio de recreo das Carmelitas de León (chan de terra dourada); non teño máis de catro anos, e subo como unha moniña por unha estrutura curvada, de ferro pintado de vermello, estou boca abaixo... mirando para miña nai e meu irmán pequeno que agardan por min. Non teño medos... Esta nena volveu evocarme, como tantas veces fan as nenas nos parques, aquel momento...</span> </div>
Cristina Novoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15091363434208107387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473896033390622353.post-89048139374068980192020-02-07T21:16:00.001+00:002020-02-07T21:16:41.368+00:00Palmeiras ao ar<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKQnx4CD4DierW8xEqQVgF4ayzc8-qH_7VasbKaS7BlVlm7TCBXWx05RTUhUwYvFlAD5nsD5dLdPnpZwBbnEWLFqqcNQrVAhBMtgfOyKKy2xvYEwir36xodvP8NzpwXELefPnHhsaRgr8/s1600/DSC08432_bn.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKQnx4CD4DierW8xEqQVgF4ayzc8-qH_7VasbKaS7BlVlm7TCBXWx05RTUhUwYvFlAD5nsD5dLdPnpZwBbnEWLFqqcNQrVAhBMtgfOyKKy2xvYEwir36xodvP8NzpwXELefPnHhsaRgr8/s640/DSC08432_bn.JPG" width="426" /></a></div>
Ollándoas entendo perfectamente o significado do termo "lanzal". Jerez de la Frontera (Cádiz), nunha mañá luminosa de inverno. Cristina Novoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15091363434208107387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473896033390622353.post-39870187283222739442020-01-07T19:45:00.000+00:002020-01-07T19:45:12.760+00:00Autorretrato de inverno<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgur6d6vSfbmn4YfNcPDtdiYyF3WQ2IjG981-glsGxk2X3UP0nGTPQCPC09lApuTdTEDAmgHV3v0g4GpPIUF7CLfS27V9rxLtUgvd_Lx4qBvR343sKamH9EtPrlcVd8CFGssbzE0hHIXB8/s1600/IMG_9870_me_prtt.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgur6d6vSfbmn4YfNcPDtdiYyF3WQ2IjG981-glsGxk2X3UP0nGTPQCPC09lApuTdTEDAmgHV3v0g4GpPIUF7CLfS27V9rxLtUgvd_Lx4qBvR343sKamH9EtPrlcVd8CFGssbzE0hHIXB8/s400/IMG_9870_me_prtt.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Os Reis Magos trouxéronme unha caixiña de "retos fotográficos": 30 propostas para sacar a cámara de paseo. Hoxe fun á praia con Isadora e fixen este autorretrato com resposta ao primeiro desafío: #me</span></div>
Cristina Novoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15091363434208107387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473896033390622353.post-29434036271689503232019-09-22T17:28:00.000+01:002019-09-22T17:28:02.206+01:00Ao norte<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqD_bkI55VyIzIDvjV0LOkQ1Pi98sNW_u6adugfzQNfq47hzP8OCcxJ3npyLFqoyzry-MJBfNsRhMgJZXLq9PGVpyKtWhTM24gP-Nvi5Abyt6ttz6uEgY9u_8FF8TC_4AlSwmkIacgR9I/s1600/remo_1_bn.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1085" data-original-width="1600" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqD_bkI55VyIzIDvjV0LOkQ1Pi98sNW_u6adugfzQNfq47hzP8OCcxJ3npyLFqoyzry-MJBfNsRhMgJZXLq9PGVpyKtWhTM24gP-Nvi5Abyt6ttz6uEgY9u_8FF8TC_4AlSwmkIacgR9I/s400/remo_1_bn.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mañá de verán, preto de Ámsterdam. Luz do norte, evocación... </span>Cristina Novoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15091363434208107387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473896033390622353.post-53637202479378552802019-09-22T17:23:00.001+01:002019-09-22T17:24:02.369+01:00Envexa do animal<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS-THYjc5JNtSXAGV5tuDR0qF-9LjK4vTXzuTljXlqFsYiP_Ud-oN0jsc9EJvu2xAmbT65djg-S0h8yMjFv_j5Js5IKOiAn9GqzgpPhNygkpR_Nq7JgZbJmWolrgK-aXaJndbgKxOkfOo/s1600/touli%25C3%25B1as_1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS-THYjc5JNtSXAGV5tuDR0qF-9LjK4vTXzuTljXlqFsYiP_Ud-oN0jsc9EJvu2xAmbT65djg-S0h8yMjFv_j5Js5IKOiAn9GqzgpPhNygkpR_Nq7JgZbJmWolrgK-aXaJndbgKxOkfOo/s400/touli%25C3%25B1as_1.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Quen fose touliña e andar ás ceibas por esas augas!</span>Cristina Novoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15091363434208107387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473896033390622353.post-48026598925077324742019-02-20T22:19:00.001+00:002019-02-20T22:19:06.815+00:00O Día do gato (e máis da gata)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGkXGPBm_gyrY5rfocY-WwP3OtzX7w8ItvT64NywY9-zGIlXvL38phd3Gz3IwJFO-tJWGaH7IPxpRIs4_UjJlthklYfxa8bJNs-2aS_PAeGduRKmoRJiyhU_Oc9fcjPWe1UfzUQL00VTA/s1600/Klara_1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGkXGPBm_gyrY5rfocY-WwP3OtzX7w8ItvT64NywY9-zGIlXvL38phd3Gz3IwJFO-tJWGaH7IPxpRIs4_UjJlthklYfxa8bJNs-2aS_PAeGduRKmoRJiyhU_Oc9fcjPWe1UfzUQL00VTA/s400/Klara_1.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Poña unha gata na súa vida... é unha forma de asegurarse beleza a cada instante. </span>Cristina Novoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15091363434208107387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473896033390622353.post-7230329716217202362019-02-01T19:41:00.001+00:002019-02-01T19:41:46.796+00:00"A rose is a rose is a rose" <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil_STDHmdc1gQv6rdLY20j6uYj-FAmAgjXOHRbCweQTZfDs2g6_ADJ7lJx8D5GkfuBNWDrCA9XaaQCJtX6llcMEq_83T8CfJKkUBSRL6g0Hx5IUidzBWCp7dQE2KW0m6NXs4-HiNa4cZY/s1600/Perfection01.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="867" data-original-width="1300" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil_STDHmdc1gQv6rdLY20j6uYj-FAmAgjXOHRbCweQTZfDs2g6_ADJ7lJx8D5GkfuBNWDrCA9XaaQCJtX6llcMEq_83T8CfJKkUBSRL6g0Hx5IUidzBWCp7dQE2KW0m6NXs4-HiNa4cZY/s400/Perfection01.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">E non hai máis que engadir ao verso de Gertrude Stein.</span>Cristina Novoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15091363434208107387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473896033390622353.post-38943006073021102212019-01-24T18:50:00.000+00:002019-01-24T18:50:03.487+00:00Ghata<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiV5kBS860H9hUWRercw9d54yg4r6OoIpmBO-ynTn9xdP12XDxe_BDciyc23J6rHy-NbvgRsz2yuSSIgB2dMXKkwZftdRT34Kz5a-xsoAudcW7CPAb0KM6Ywm_Wph9CodnbLCwDpPbohQ/s1600/DSC06463_bn.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiV5kBS860H9hUWRercw9d54yg4r6OoIpmBO-ynTn9xdP12XDxe_BDciyc23J6rHy-NbvgRsz2yuSSIgB2dMXKkwZftdRT34Kz5a-xsoAudcW7CPAb0KM6Ywm_Wph9CodnbLCwDpPbohQ/s640/DSC06463_bn.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Quen sabe as historias que a ela se lle ocorren!</span>Cristina Novoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15091363434208107387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473896033390622353.post-23711333662152299252019-01-22T21:05:00.000+00:002019-01-22T21:05:15.762+00:00Os dados da Vida<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDItH0Vyq75PWKy6LUBgAfDmNlqv1kjAr1E_Hd_teK3ZQReCqhp5N8ukDprtswgXx3y6qyTQ3tkKhU1uZyEBH81IpOqfe_H-IdYGkXyRIg5slYPQvf3D4iOuzFa_BQbMVM2ltDp8pu8OQ/s1600/DSC06454_bn.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="867" data-original-width="1301" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDItH0Vyq75PWKy6LUBgAfDmNlqv1kjAr1E_Hd_teK3ZQReCqhp5N8ukDprtswgXx3y6qyTQ3tkKhU1uZyEBH81IpOqfe_H-IdYGkXyRIg5slYPQvf3D4iOuzFa_BQbMVM2ltDp8pu8OQ/s400/DSC06454_bn.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Quen sexa que botou os dados dalgunhas historias reais demostrou ter unha man, que así lla coma un porco. </span>Cristina Novoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15091363434208107387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473896033390622353.post-22933591483661053222019-01-21T18:48:00.000+00:002019-01-21T18:48:02.542+00:00Moda tradicional<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigLmhI0WUkq4h3RXPNl7h-NMI9vs4xZ0Ki-Eko91er3DrxDvyY24jaJKJq-ekOMTuKQ1eN1aiDWNbImmydgDSSHshspm_3IubBEesMsdbvFzAYJsUpvgu7KMqZDz5QhSfBtWE8Ez8jReY/s1600/IMG_9505_bn.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigLmhI0WUkq4h3RXPNl7h-NMI9vs4xZ0Ki-Eko91er3DrxDvyY24jaJKJq-ekOMTuKQ1eN1aiDWNbImmydgDSSHshspm_3IubBEesMsdbvFzAYJsUpvgu7KMqZDz5QhSfBtWE8Ez8jReY/s400/IMG_9505_bn.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Quixen sempre ter un traxe tradicional, polo momento merquei unha saia moderna, produto da "apropiación cultural"... e vou safando.</span>Cristina Novoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15091363434208107387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473896033390622353.post-73354395699435877792019-01-19T23:16:00.000+00:002019-01-19T23:16:28.425+00:00Mullerasas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI6YZYYcOIy5TaLz851BHrJpn2TIBF4ioVym9GRRUN23SSoUoMZbIwqs7rV6zBbRu4zJaBftEWQLJPzw3f-pwFvhvM4gwVUNwwFM0jrWsBz2GFbojp4uYzwx5n7wHn_ZajypXlNlTlLBA/s1600/IMG_9504_web.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1088" data-original-width="1300" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI6YZYYcOIy5TaLz851BHrJpn2TIBF4ioVym9GRRUN23SSoUoMZbIwqs7rV6zBbRu4zJaBftEWQLJPzw3f-pwFvhvM4gwVUNwwFM0jrWsBz2GFbojp4uYzwx5n7wHn_ZajypXlNlTlLBA/s400/IMG_9504_web.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mulleres fortes do meu país; das que enfrontan as adversidades coma os temporais, abrighadas pero sen botarse para atrás... </span>Cristina Novoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15091363434208107387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473896033390622353.post-31303846266809164822019-01-18T22:48:00.000+00:002019-01-18T22:49:56.492+00:00A caixa das cunchas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxj3teVwiYxa2AT4e7W_9Ckg9vX3FYK16sJQPEHyMDm8t2DfKHUh5GAx3MNhrJAbmd13Owgu_sJ78IH_K9DMYHyBQySr5n5gllEyX-gGLc2HPhCqAn3I7Pm4GMOFuWaoWol-asYnUEno4/s1600/Polo_C01.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxj3teVwiYxa2AT4e7W_9Ckg9vX3FYK16sJQPEHyMDm8t2DfKHUh5GAx3MNhrJAbmd13Owgu_sJ78IH_K9DMYHyBQySr5n5gllEyX-gGLc2HPhCqAn3I7Pm4GMOFuWaoWol-asYnUEno4/s400/Polo_C01.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Gardo cunchas en caixas, cunchas humildes, testemuños de camiñadas solitarias polas praias do Barbanza... polas praias todas por cantas andiven. Tamén gardo pedriñas... </span>Cristina Novoahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15091363434208107387noreply@blogger.com0