Thursday, October 13, 2016


"Autumn burned brightly, a running flame through mountains, a torch flung to the trees"-Faith Baldwin

Friday, August 19, 2016

{All Along}

"Say to them,
Say to the down keepers,
the sun-slappers,
the self-soilers,
the harmony-hushers,
"Even if you are not ready for the day
it cannot always be night."
You will be right.
For that is the hard home-run.
Live not for the battles won.
Live not for the-end-of-the-day-song.
Live in the along. -
Gwendolyn Brooks, Selected Poems

Friday, August 5, 2016

{Summer Sundays in the City}

You said, 'They’re harmless dreamers and they’re loved by the people.' 'What,' I asked you, 'is harmless about a dreamer, and what,' I asked you, 'is harmless about the love of the people? Revolution only needs good dreamers who remember their dreams.” ― Tennessee Williams

Sunday, July 31, 2016


“The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color.” ― Natalie Babbitt, Tuck Everlasting

Tuesday, July 26, 2016

{Land of Heart's Desire}

Come, faeries, take me out of this dull house!
Let me have all the freedom I have lost;
Work when I will and idle when I will!
Faeries, come take me out of this dull world,
For I would ride with you upon the wind,
Run on the top of the dishevelled tide,
And dance upon the mountains like a flame. 
-W.B. Yeats
The entirety of this poem is beautiful but long so I posted my favorite few lines. And this picture, I'm entirely aware, is a photograph of leaves eaten by what is probably a very hungry bug of sorts. However, I found the pattern and how the light hit this patch of woods quite stunning so I'll post it anyway! Whatever ate away at these leaves seemed to have a very specific eating pattern.

Sunday, July 24, 2016

{Ordinary Tales}

It was not dying that mattered, it was the sadness, the wonder. The few good people crying in the night. The few good people. – Charles Bukowski

Monday, July 18, 2016


"Deeply I go down into myself. My god is dark and like a webbing made of a hundred roots that drink in silence"-Rainer Maria Rilke