Dusk falling to dark

"How lovely it is when the mind blurs.." - Odysseus Elytis

[predecessors]

A man standing on the Sphinx, demonstrating its size. Circa 1900s.

[dailyclassicart]

Carl Gustav Carus - "Moonlight over pine trees"

[selene]

💀

[luthienne]

Franz Wright, God's Silence; "East Boston, 1996"

[Text ID: Go out and look at the stars / shining / in the past.]

[entropy-entropy]

Wind is never just “here.”

It has arrived.

By the time it touches you, it has already travelled—over trees, water, dust, maybe distant fields, maybe someone’s courtyard, maybe a temple bell ringing far away. It carries tiny traces—scents, temperature, even a kind of invisible memory.

That’s why it feels distant and a little mysterious.

Your mind senses this without thinking. It’s like the breeze is whispering, “I’ve been somewhere… I’ve seen things.” And that creates a feeling of vastness —like you’re connected to places you can’t see.

Sometimes a breeze smells faintly of earth, or leaves, or something you can’t quite name—that’s because it’s literally carrying particles from afar. But emotionally… it feels like it’s carrying stories.

And there’s something else too—wind blurs boundaries.

It doesn’t belong to one place. So when it touches you, for a moment, you also don’t feel confined. You feel a little expanded, a little elsewhere. That’s why certain winds feel almost… nostalgic, even if you don’t know what you’re remembering.

It’s not just air.

It’s movement, memory, and distance… all arriving at once.

- Kalindi

[a-quiet-green-agreement]

She was alone in the autumn groves and her solitude gave her a melancholy, pensive aura.

– Konstantin Paustovsky, from “Isaak Levitan,” Selected Stories (Progress Publishers, 1974)

[derangedrhythms]

Silently a blue deer came down from black forests

Georg Trakl, Surrender to Night: Collected Poems of Georg Trakl: Uncollected Poems and Prose; from 'Night Soul' (version 2), tr. Will Stone

[brucelewisphotography]

Fairy Dust

[derangedrhythms]

For it seemed that under the cold stare of the great moon orb, all things known darkened and faded from sight and all things hidden glittered in its gaze.

Morowa Yejidé, from 'Creatures of Passage'

[mournfulroses]

Katherine Mansfield, from a diary entry featured in The Letters & Journals of Katherine Mansfield

[petaltexturedskies]

Virginia Woolf, describing Katherine Mansfield, in a diary entry wr. c. May 1920, from The Diary of Virginia Woolf, Vol. II: 1920-1924

[bluewillowmoon]

Blue Ridge Mountains, Asheville, North Carolina, 13 March 2023

[hiddenshores]

“Things!

Burn them, burn them! Make a beautiful

fire! More room in your heart for love,

for the trees! For the birds who own

nothing—the reason they can fly.”

— Mary Oliver, from “Storage”, in Felicity

[rosieandthemoon]

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Joy Sullivan

[a-quiet-green-agreement]

[a-quiet-green-agreement]

“There is no consistency in me. I change as the sky, blue, aqua, marine, orange gold and deep purple.”

— John Wieners, Journal

[moments-in-35mm-film]