thankful*

pinkies

dirty toes, sign of a midsummers walk gone good.

pilgrim sweet potatoes

our strong, way too playful girl pup. about a year old.

magic

It's the end of the summer,
When you move to another place

And I feel like the neighbor's girl who will never be the same
She walked alone all spring,
She had a boyfriend when the summer came
And he gave her flowers in a lightning storm
They disappeared at night in green fields of silver corn
And sometime in July she just forgot that he was leaving
So when the fields were dying, she held on to his sleeves
She held on to his sleeves

-end of the summer, dar williams

brown paper packages

little old wooden tables with sticks for legs and faded paint

heavy cottons, nubby linens, faded red stripes, cool summer mornings



creamy butter colored floors, rag rugs, old house smell.. these are a few of my favorite things

Scheherezade

Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake
and dress them in warm clothes again.
How it was late, and no one could sleep, the horses running
until they forget that they are horses.
It’s not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere,
it’s more like a song on a policeman’s radio,
how we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and the days
were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another apple
to slice into pieces.
Look at the light through the windowpane. That means it’s noon, that means
we’re inconsolable.
Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.
These, our bodies, possessed by light.
Tell me we’ll never get used to it.

- "Scheherezade", Richard Siken

i miss my constants.