todays bird
AnasAbdin
hello vonnie
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
KIROKAZE
occasionally subtle
ojovivo
trying on a metaphor
Stranger Things
styofa doing anything
Sweet Seals For You, Always
⁂
Misplaced Lens Cap
d e v o n
Jules of Nature
wallacepolsom
DEAR READER
Game of Thrones Daily
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@brendanekwall
A few more photos I love. Some I’ve taken, some are of me.*
Locations in orders of appearance: Capri, Italy; Grand Canyon, Arizona/USA; Mount Katahdin (northern terminus of the Appalachian Trail), Maine/USA; Barcelona, Spain; Rocky Neck, Connecticut/USA
*Grand Canyon, Mt. Katahdin, and Rocky Neck are of me. I tend to spread my arms out rejoicing in the splendor of expanses like these, just roll with it.
35mm print scans. (Florence, Italy; Paris, France; Vienna, Austria; 2010)
If I could lay the blanket of stars over us all
and tuck each and everyone one of us in at night;
If I could direct with my finger the rising sun
and tell us all, "that is the way we want to go";
If I could wink at the clouds above
when we felt dirty and needed a shower to wash us clean;
If I could,
I would.
If I could share with the world just one thing
It would be a smile.
A quarter past four in the afternoon is hardly a break-worthy time for a cubicle slave such as I.
Nevertheless I need it.
It's almost as if I'm left standing at the altar offering my heart; my palms are open.
I, a dog in heat donning a bowtie, cry out to the empty pews.
And we, we both have ears. Though neither of us can hear.
Our Picnic in the Park
Sometimes I catch myself daydreaming of the week I spent getting lost in Hyde Park. I can see the overgrown grass as it teases the cuffs of my jeans, and stains my shoes as I navigate the sea of lush green happiness.
There, somewhere past the Serpentine, towards Kensington, a couple sits. Cross-legged in the rough they share smiles, a baguette, prosciutto and Pinot Noir. He remembers needing a haircut, but being to carefree to do much beyond shaving his mustache - an impractical adornment he had once used to blend in Spain.
Somewhere on the other side of a thicket, out of sight, an old mare whinnies to which a young dog replies in quick succession. They too must smell the sweet essence of roses.
A lesson upon waking
As clear as the running water with which I wash my face, as sharp as the sun's morning rays that pierce through gaps in evergreen needles, I see. I seem to have forgotten the rate at which the Earth spins and thought I could somehow outrun the revolutions. In speeding up, I fell behind.
All I needed to do was slow down.
John was right, James was right, and now it's my turn. I've had the necessary tools all along, but I never used them. I am recalling my prepubescent years at sailing camp and a lesson on the wind. The most import rule being that you cannot change the direction the wind blows. You can simply harness the energy - and with well calculated tacking and a proper rigging set up - you can control where it is you go.
No, it's not easy, but yes it is simple.
Taming the River Wild
Four years of personal infidelity, four years of making plans that remain ignored. Burning bridges before crossing, losing a son before he's born. Questioning the answers that don't answer much of anything. Reasoning with incongruencies. Rationalizing the irrational.
He's speaking in accents again.
The tempest ravages on--like that whore you called a mother--even on the most mild-weathered, virginal days.
We thought by now he'd have learned
his lesson.
Forgot who took this/where it came from, but I encountered a print of it in a bar last weekend.
bl0ssom:
Manam Volcano, Papua New Guinea by NASA Goddard Photo and Video on Flickr.
The Argentine
I remember well the Argentine
Who wrote the rules and drew the lines
And when we shared the bottle red
Through muffled words the man had said:
"Oh, son, I say...what can I say?
You'll live, you'll fight another day!
And while that glowing sun does set
a time will come that quells regret."
The Deja Vu of Moving
I think I'm dreaming. I think this is a dream. I'm packing my things once more. I'm moving. I pack my things and move into the darkness. I would have been gone already. I would be living three-thousand miles from this place, but I made a decision because I love my life. Or do I love my dream? Am I dreaming?
A deja vu of sorts, I touch the purple walls and recall memories of which there are no clues of scattered about on the flooring. There are no dust bunnies hiding secrets under bookshelves. There is nothing.
I began with more and ended with less, or did I? The lines are as blurred as my eyesight and I see: a light somewhere far beyond. It could be a twenty minute car ride or an eight hour venture by air. I see it, but I can't place it. And I think to myself, "have I been here before?"
We do not associate the idea of antiquity with the ocean, nor wonder how it looked a thousand years ago, as we do of the land, for it was equally wild and unfathomable always.
Henry David Thoreau
Soon.
I spy with my little eye something somewhere beyond the Eastern seaboard, beyond the sea foam that tickles the sand, beyond the dancing whitecaps that taunt the ocean's ridges far below. I cannot touch it, I cannot taste it, but now I sure as hell can smell it. I can almost see the plumes rise from a baker's chimney, mingle with the clouds, then glide westward. It's something sweet, like a pastry. Delicate, airy, fresh. It is the scent of adventure.
Somewhere someone sits whittling away in the middle of the night wondering, "when?"
I dig my toes into the sand and make a promise to the evening moon: "Soon. Before Autumn sheds her first leaves."
The sea licks my words and flicks them in the air, where they play with the ocean mist and all the other dreams traversing the Atlantic.
(John Mayer - Slow Dancing in a Burning Room, Live in Los Angeles)
I don't care what anyone else thinks, this is and will always be my favorite song. Especially this version.
dear-photograph:
Dear Photograph, Je t’aime Paris, but I love my mother more. After 15 years she finally brought me along! Leah Romm
drueisms:
Taken by Emmanuel Coupe
“This image was taken in winter time in a arid area of the Canadian Rockies. Temperatures where below -30 degrees Celsius yet because there was no snow fall the surface of the lake was uncovered allowing me to see and capture the bubbles (gas release from lake bed) that were trapped in the frozen waters.”
