coffee and moon thoughts

this is a place for my coffee and thoughts about the moon (this is a side blog)

[90s-leo]

Romeo + Juliet (1996)

[gravity-rainbow-deactivated2024]

[spooky-autumn-town]

[words--words--words]

Even broken in spirit as he is, no one can feel more deeply than he does the beauties of nature. The starry sky, the sea, and every sight afforded by these wonderful regions, seems still to have the power of elevating his soul from earth. Such a man has a double existence: he may suffer misery and be overwhelmed by disappointments, yet, when he has retired into himself, he will be like a celestial spirit, that has a halo around him, within whose circle no grief or folly ventures.

Mary Shelley, Frankenstein.

[trickr-treat]

[itsloriel]

wings by laura-makabresku

[perfumedetempestad-deactivated2]

“What should I do about the wild and the tame? The wild heart that wants to be free, and the tame heart that wants to come home. I want to be held. I don’t want you to come too close. I want you to scoop me up and bring me home at nights. I don’t want to tell you where I am. I want to keep a place among the rocks where no one can find me. I want to be with you.”

— Jeanette Winterson

[ohmycavalier]

Fox coming in from the cold.

[irishmansdaughter]

[rusyasart]

[nerdykitten]

Mood:

[sandmn1961again]

[photografya-deactivated20230917]

[hellbecomingroundthemountain]

It's when your morning coffee seems to have taken on its own kind of taste that it's never had before, when it's taken on that kind of taste that comes with a chaser of cool fresh cream, sweetened by honey straight from the comb, and served in a cup of a special friend. You all take your coffee how you want, I'll chose mine.

[allyouneediswall]

[livebythemoonseclipse]

between worlds :: @earthtowildrose

[fuckyeahchiarabautista]

[tolackcolour]

“With the aurora borealis flaming coldly overhead, or the stars leaping in the frost dance, and the land numb and frozen under its pall of snow, this song of the huskies might have been the defiance of life, only it was pitched in minor key, with long-drawn wailings and half-sobs, and was more the pleading of life, the articulate travail of existence. It was an old song, old as the breed itself–one of the first songs of the younger world in a day when songs were sad.” ― Jack London