image: Garry Winogrand, New Mexico, 1957 quote: Adolphe Rette via old chum
American Journalist: If you were to give advice to a woman, what would it be? Edith Piaf: Love American Journalist: To a young girl? Edith Piaf: Love American Journalist: To a child? Edith Piaf: Love...
I see thee better in the dark, I do not need a light. The love of thee a prism be Excelling violet. poem: emily dickinson Part Five: The Single Hound, LXXIX
image: here
“When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his be...
My only advice for you is this. Go within yourself and probe the depths from which your life springs, and there at its source you’ll find the answer to the question of whether you must write. A...
from max wanger blog: jesse +whitney family
Be like a bear in the forest of yourself. Even sleeping you are powerful in your breath. Every hair has life and standing, as you do, swaying from one foot to the other all the forest stands with you...
found at fern and moss
5 cups organic rolled oats (or any oats of choice) 1/3 cup ground golden flax 1/2 cup maple syrup (or maybe agave?) 1/3 cup oil of choice 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon 3/4 teaspoon sea salt 1 tablespoo...
the girls have a new game they play outside - one lies down on the ground, face up, eyes closed, dead grass knotted in her hair. one sister comes to the rescue, placing the dead sister in the little ...
image – not sure of the origin – found at the lovely arielawonders poem: a ring of changes by denise levertov
anniversary poem later, you would shave your head. and i would trim the hair on the nape of your neck. this notion of time, a passing year, another we’ve made together. you ask me – what ...
And then it was over, this world we had grown to love for its sweet grasses, for the many-colored horses and fishes, for the shimmering possibilities while dreaming. But then there were the seeds to ...
clogs + rolled jeans elbow patches mix plaid awkward layering multi-colored faux fur with tunic image 1: here via here image 2: here
image so very royal quiet deluxe: here and listening to this
from: what love comes to: new and selected poems ruth stone ___ “You are a lovely link in the great chain of being Think how lucky it is to be born.” ___
No longer riding on the merry-go-round, I just had to let it go. ♥
You think of lands you journeyed through, of paintings and a dress once worn by a woman you never found again. And suddenly you know: that was enough. You rise and there appears before you in all its...
“Francisca’s eggs are small, creamy and the yolk is yellowish orange while Bonita’s yolk’s are the color of persimons. I have not yet tasted Bonita’s eggs. Astrid won&#...
Someone spoke to me last night, told me the truth. Just a few words, but I recognized it. from dust by dorianne laux image from Martina Hoogland Ivanow – Satellite
i hold your hand, first born. this is how you know i’ve memorized the length of your fingers. and when you’re biting your nails again. she held my hand, too, bending my fingers upward at ...
Billy Al Bengston, cups, 1957 via an ambitious project collapsing
She pays attention to the hair, not her fingers, and cuts herself once or twice a day. Doesn’t notice anymore, just if the blood starts flowing. Says, Excuse me, to the customer and walks away fo...
fall. images: 1. secret shop 2. thank you, ok
joan didion and daughter quintana and a hunt for honey: honey bear by dixie wilson
Not under foreign skies Nor under foreign wings protected - I shared all this with my own people There, where misfortune had abandoned us … One day, somehow, someone ‘picked me out’...
Sweetheart when you break thru you’ll find a poet here not quite what one would choose. I won’t promise you’ll never go hungry or that you won’t be sad on this gutted breaking globe but I can show yo...
One that a woman lives within The wrappings of this strange cocoon. Her hands reach from these veils of death To harvest a child from the raw womb. from poem: the nuns assist at childbirth by barbara...
a 1930′s Handmade Modernist Crazy Quilt: here
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