Jackie

[plaidshirtdayssandnightss]

Ho ho holy shit it’s reputation eve

[truelove-swift]

today’s the last day you can reblog this calling 1989 Taylor’s most recent album

[definegodliness]

Only the moon knows how I long, For each night I sing her a song Confessing the dream I pursue, My wish for a life shared with you; A yearning plea, ever so strong.     My heart’s convinced that we belong; Whispers of love beyond lifelong – Who knows a soul-bond to be true? Only the moon.     When I sing the stars hum along, ‘Til the sun bangs his golden gong, Then there’s no one left to turn to; Then all my dreams fade out of view. Who is to say if they are wrong?

Only the moon.” – M.A. Tempels © 2016 (via definegodliness)

[tokarphoto]

Springtime sunsets… Rondeau Provincial Park, Morpeth, ON. Canada

Coast to Coast ~ Shades of Black & White ~ Abstractions ~

[grace--upon--grace]

[justingrey22]

[darling-of-disney-deactivated20]

🎃Cozy Autumn Blog👻

[srsfunny]

A Hedgehog In A Little Beanie

[photosetavenue]

[mystic-revelations]

Untitled

By Missy Prince

[vintageux]

vintage/nature

[autumncozy]

[veverybeautiful-deactivated2018]

[gracebriarwoodwrites]

The Fall

Let the fall return swiftly. If the clouds must swirl low and heavy as cream, let the leaves dance a saffron and scarlet masterpiece, let cinnamon air and soft wool embrace my soul until it wakes.

Grace Babcock © 2017

[hotcoffeeandfrozenair]

I sold my soul to the Autumn trees,

To the quiet woods and the chilly breeze

I yearn for the rain and a good book or two

Hot tea and a Sunday that I can sleep through 

No longer need Winters, nor Springs or those Summers

I have fallen in love with all these Fall colours

[theautumndarling]

It’s time. It is officially October. The month in which my heart yearns for that comforting feeling in the air of just knowing that it is once and for all autumn. The witches come out on their brooms and take late night rides across the waning moon, as do the black cats that prowl along the streets at midnight. The scary movie marathons begin and there’s a chill and a spook that follows you into your house late at night as you retire on the couch after a long day. You’ve got all of your favorites — apple cider donuts, pumpkin spice hot chocolate, and a candle that emanates fall. Outside, the crisp wind sweeps colors of gold, orange, and red along the window and there is a faint cackling in the air — for one of the witches has been flying up above. The next day, you’ve got plans to visit the pumpkin patch, where large bumpy pumpkins sit on bales of hay, waiting oh-so patiently to be chosen. You shake ripe red apples from bending branches and go on your way, stopping only once to pet the cat at your feet. Your footsteps quicken at the cawing of a black crow that swoops against the blue backdrop. The pumpkin seeds go straight in the oven for roasting and the smell of cinnamon fills the air. That night, with a carved pumpkin sitting out on your steps, and a plate of pumpkin seeds on your lap, you allow yourself to pause and soak in that feeling. Not the feeling of a good scare when the witches bring when they come around to scare you … no. And not the feeling of a good smile when the cat comes to visit you … no. But the feeling of warmth and coziness that hangs in the air; the fresh scent of nature that streams in through the open window. It is the feeling of knowing that it is October.

[theautumndarling]

I live for chilly autumn afternoons. You’ve just walked home, the sky above is gray and there’s a chill in the air. With every step you take, your combat boots that are laced high to your knees, crunch upon leaves of orange, red, and yellow. On your way, you pass bales of hay and pumpkins that grin at your back. A black cat scurries past your feet and you slip inside your house. You put the kettle on and make yourself a cup of pumpkin spice hot chocolate. Your favorite halloween movie is on and you throw on your sweatpants and your favorite flannel. There’s a cinnamon scented candle burning on the coffee table and an untouched plate of apple cider donuts. Buried beneath the covers on the couch, your hands wrapped around a mug, you let out a sigh. This is what you live for. Outside, the wind howls and the moon reveals itself behind thin layers of fog. Just before you nod off, you’re sure you see a witch flying across the sky. Your dreams are full of swirling colors of gold and red and black cats that trail after cackling witches.

[the-stories-we-write]

The Balance of Opposites

He was the Sun, She was the Moon. She was midnight, He was noon.

She was the anchor to keep Him steady. He was the rocket, locked and ready.

She is as stormy as the sea. He is as clear as clear can be.

He was the one Who woke before light, She was the one Who couldn’t sleep at night.

She was the night owl, Broody and mad. He was the day dream Free and bad.

She could hold Her temper low While He tried hard Not to blow.

He was Fire, She was Ice. He was hot, And She was nice.

He, with anger deep In His heart, Reached far into Her, And ripped love apart.

Then She fell Left for the dead, Her silver heart Was bleeding red.

She left the world To travel around And now She stays Far from ground.

She was the Moon He was the Sun, His heart was damaged, She had none.