Pretty Clouds and City Dreams

snowone

2011-12-07T11:39:00.001-05:00

Tables littered with mugs and cups and saucers, kettles onthe stove whistling a symphony of steam. Nothing more than a powdered sugardusting on yellow grass, I think we might be holding off the world’s cold allby our selves. Winking lights in the window and you with your stories of tragicloves and how the winter came about. I’ve never had a blanket like you to curlup under and I can only wish that you won’t unravel.

not to be found

2011-10-16T11:34:00.000-04:00

Eating like a bird again, maybe it’s in defense of you. Youlook at me with those hungry eyes, your owl eyes, feathers brush across yourface, across my lips. When you look at me, glowing eyes in the dark, I can’tlook back. The trees are going up in flames and the nights close in. I curl upto wait out the winter but you- always going, never settling- what do you smellon the crisp autumn wind? What secrets do the falling leaves speak to you? Whatunknown places do they call you to? I can’t look at you because you’ll take theknowing part of me and leave with it.

fires in the heart make for cold skin

drops

2011-09-07T12:17:00.000-04:00

There are clouds in the parking lot. The trees are draped in white. The ground is white, the sky is white, I am white. I am mist (missed?). The valley has disappeared and I can see to the edge of the world. It is just over that ridge where all the color stops, drops. The mists muffle all sound here at the end of the world. Thick grass hangs heavy with cloudy gems; droplets of sky, as if the edges of the earth were bleeding together, and the heavens reached out and tangled with the hard ground. Bells in the distance.

spaces

2011-07-11T00:25:00.000-04:00

I sleep with the moths now. Wings brushing about my cheeks, I confuse them with my eyelashes. Each night they come down from the pines at the edge of the yard and through the window I leave open now. I've given up trying to keep them out; they'll always find a way in, the rafters have so many cracks...
They used to frighten me and I'd turn on the lamp. The brightness would send them into a panic and they'd flow over me in a frantic race to the light, but they never did seethe like dark things do. In the dark they are only soft and sweet, small bodies that gather about me and when I rest they slow, fluttering with the push of my breath. They take your place now; millions of tiny arms to fill the space left behind. They are very accommodating, my new friends the moths. I'm sure they'll rearrange themselves when you come back.

...

because

2011-06-14T00:03:00.000-04:00

"I like you too much for my own good"

"I know. I'm sorry."

"I know."

Down the shady, sunlit corridors; the dusty aisles; hours spent stitching the tiny tears in me back together. Such fine needlework, you can barely see the craftsman's hand. I'm sorry I can't give you a why. I have one, but it's not for you.

the effectiveness of rain

2011-05-16T23:50:00.000-04:00

Missing you is getting easier. I only thought about you 57 times today (I know because I kept a tally on a scrap of paper in my pocket) as opposed to over a hundred times yesterday. If I keep going at this rate, decreasing by almost half each day, I know I'll never get to zero, but by the time you get back I'll hardly miss you at all!

Maybe if it were sunnier I wouldn't be having such a hard time. But since it's cold and wet all I want is to curl up in your arms and hear your heart beating so slow and deep. It's amazing how powerful that one muscle can be... to gather up enough force with one perfectly timed contraction so that it can push all the blood in your body through each tiny capillary, and then bring it back. It's amazing how acutely such a strong thing can be hurt, by as cosmically microscopic an incident as, say, you leaving.

final exams

2011-05-07T23:49:00.000-04:00

Making reference to the historical context, explain the following phrase from the Action Program of the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia: “Voluntary social organizations of the working people cannot replace dreaming, but the contrary is also true.”

The ancient Greeks believed that thoughts were facilitated by little men living inside the mind. Expand upon this statement: What was the lifespan of the little men? What happened to thoughts if the "men" died prematurely?

Examine the effect that the Moon has upon the tides. To what extent is it believed that the tides are thus affected out of love for the Moon? Be sure to support any claims with both circumstantial and speculative evidence.

Exams creeping up, we stay awake until even the warming wind blows itself out and the world is silent and dark in the hour just before dawn, cramming our brains with information: What volume of water runs over a single river stone in the course of a day? How much does a star weigh just before it explodes? Why do parts of the body sometimes sicken and die? Knowledge learned for the sake of learning knowledge; formulas, proofs, quantifying, qualifying... and you are still the unexplained

hair like feathers

2011-04-17T17:44:00.001-04:00

We close our eyes, stinging from tiredness, bright with exhaustion and joy. Lodged in our throats, caught in chests, trapped behind teeth; the first gray rays of light wash over us, not as soft as your fingers on the skin of my shoulder. It is a quiet love, a love of bursts of laughter and no words. A love of lips of noses, love of eyelashes, your love, mine. The shadows of the year grow longer- we are stretching thin towards the close and we come back.

orange sky

2011-04-16T14:01:00.000-04:00

Spring is trying on different coats, hand out the window, one foot in the door, deciding. The sky heats up and the rains come down and it seems that everything is in its right place. However off they were yesterday, however silly the grievance, it comes together for a while and you realize that time is only the ebb and flow of right and wrong. Salvation is the warm body next to you as the wind whips the trees into a frenzy that is fascinating because you are safe, held and anchored, tied to the warmth.

My skin still smells of you despite the scrubbing. You slip between my ribs and kiss me- goosebumps from the inside.

july flame

2011-03-27T15:00:00.000-04:00

I feel as though I will never get warm. I need the searing heat, the pressing humidity, the excuse to lie down in the grass and sleep because it is too hot to move but to sip cool things out of glasses. I need the length of days and the closeness of the sky; the colors deepening in their ripe fullness; the sensuality of pressing air moved only by a hot breeze. Here the air is too thin to hold me- I cut right through. I need the heat because it holds you.

your brother said your mother was a firefly you buried in the earth

2011-03-09T19:30:00.000-05:00

I woke up to gray skies melting towards a glowing dusk, the day was already old. The warm wind wakes the frozen ground and calls me down; the sea is back in my hair and the air tastes of salt and storms to come. Warm skin smells like lily of the valley and I am clean clean clean once more

Spring is beginning to come round again, at least here by the sea, now that I'm out of the mountains for a while. I'm back home for a quick vacation, of the mind and of the heart- it's surprising how much coming home can mean; how much it brings back what once was.

fleet

2011-02-28T16:14:00.000-05:00

The air felt like spring today, even though it’s still cold. Watching tendrils of steam curl off my shoulders still hot from the bath, cut by the breeze. The skunk was so sweet for something so smelly. It’s not worth being lonely any longer.

you could love me

2011-02-27T00:54:00.000-05:00

Miss says I’m wasting away. I tried to explain that my stomach is full; I can’t eat. It would do no good to explain that my heart dropped down and it’s sitting there, there’s no more room for food.

It’s been since your last visit, on that leave they gave you. I didn’t know how to greet you after your last letter, but I couldn’t help but hope. I waited in the rain for you that day, I know you weren’t pleased when you saw me soaked to the skin. Your smile didn’t reach your eyes.

Please just cut me loose. Since I can’t stand the waiting I tried to sit it, but that didn’t work either. It rained like that again yesterday, and I took your last letter outside with me. Now we’re both soggy.

angels

2011-02-05T16:11:00.001-05:00

Been raining all day and I'm in love

.

2011-01-19T23:25:00.000-05:00

Always more in love

With drinks, life presents more doors

Open than those shut

swiming lessons

2011-01-17T18:29:00.000-05:00

Returning to school in a tumble of snow and bags can be disorienting. The snow is up to my knees and sometimes the ice trips you up but you can't fall because you'd be late to class and there is no time to lose.

Luckily, I have your pretty face to distract me. Have you ever seen such beautiful eyes? I think maybe the sea got a little jealous and jumped in there herself. Not that I can blame her. If I could swim in your eyes forever, I would too.

a new year

2011-01-08T19:11:00.001-05:00

I had a dream that the bread was burning in the fireplace. And you had used all that was left in the house to make French toast for me.

I think it was all on account of you reading that letter that was not meant for anyone to see. I know you read the whole thing, please don’t bother telling me you stopped half way. And I know you are only trying to help but please, this can’t be helped.

I don’t think I’ll look at you for the next month an a half.

repair shop

2010-12-29T01:04:00.001-05:00

“Here. You can fix him right?”

“Eh? Hmm let me see there then…”

“So you can fix him? You can fix everything. I know it. Like that time I brought you mother’s necklace in pieces when everyone said it was beyond repair. You fixed it.”

“Well hold on there sweetheart, let me see what’s broken here… Ah! There’s your problem right there: it’s his heart. You can see there’s a fissure right up the middle- leads all the way up to his mind. Jeez you sure did a number on this one! What’d you do, drop him off a building?”

“I… I didn’t mean to… I just wasn’t thinking and I got so angry… I didn’t mean for it to be bad, but he’s just stopped working. But you can fix him can’t you? Can’t you?”

“Sweetheart…”

static

2010-12-02T10:24:00.003-05:00

The winds came and with them a quiet. The constant static of the drops hitting tin roofs formed a sort of white noise that made thought unnecessary. She knew she had to leave

Maybe I'll fill up with rain and it won't matter whether I'm wearing boots or not.

This strange saltwater rain- and then I'll always carry the ocean in my curls.

how to make the perfect memory

2010-11-21T14:25:00.001-05:00

** Note: Quiet smiles or soft, contented sighs if you have them on hand make a pleasant garnish. Sprinkle artfully over and around your memory, and enjoy.

november please be good to me

2010-11-16T14:19:00.000-05:00

I was thinking of you and I looked out. Saw two people kissing in the rain.

The month is gray fog over the valley and cold rain. It's a quiety time. I'd like nothing more than to curl up close to you because you're always warm.

sweet dreams and flying machines

2010-11-02T20:50:00.000-04:00

What interesting debris washes up on the steps after Halloween. The place was transformed in the night, and now we see what the illusions were made of. I went walking today with my eyes on the ground. I found a crown, and a shoe with diamonds set in rows in the heel. And two satin ribbons the same color but different lengths, and a mask with a horrible grin and empty, glaring eyes, which shed glitter and shone light in a million different directions. These among the fallen leaves and discarded rings and brightly-colored feathers all around. And finally an angel's wing, it's mate at the bottom of a curving stair.

don't dare wander

2010-10-20T19:58:00.000-04:00

The darkness comes so much more quickly now.

That’s what separates summer from fall. The feeling of finality. Fatality. Limits. Deadlines creep up- we feel the stress of winter coming. Even though we long ago found ways around preparing for the winter, gathering food and wood to store, deep inside us we still feel the season’s urgency. Get Things Done, it says. Can’t put off till tomorrow anymore- by then the snows might be here. You can pull the blinds tight against the earlier dark, but it sneaks in around the cracks, tap tap tapping on shoulders, “Shouldn’t you have finished that by now? You know you’ll regret not doing it sooner.” You already regret not doing it sooner but somehow the reminder puts you off. You push away the feeling and leave it later and later. This is what the darkness does.

concerns of you

2010-10-14T17:21:00.000-04:00

I found a bone in the woods today, bleached white and so delicate, and then the rain started. I took it home with me and placed it in the box you made me before you had to go. Missing you is getting harder. I forgot to wake up today, but Dr. Queen didn’t get mad. He said meet him later, but sometimes I don’t like the way he smiles. I like your smile better. Too bad you took all the oceans south with you and I’m still here with my paper. Sorry your letter got soaked, I know I promised I’d take better care, but I never remember my rain slicker before I close the door. My mind can’t hold concerns of anything but you.

write your own story

2010-09-29T16:58:00.000-04:00

He flew off west, and after the setting sun made his shadow unintelligible, we never saw him again

love poems

2010-09-27T22:57:00.000-04:00

Today I woke up and something was different. I think I dreamed about you. I wasn't tired when I got up this morning. My eyelids stayed open instead of asking to close again like they usually do. I think my top and bottom eyelids must be in love with each other, because they always seem to want to be together. I do a lot of sleeping here.
Aaron wrote me a poem yesterday. He says he is in love with me, but I know better. So I wrote him a poem back explaining why he shouldn't be in love with me, but I don't think he really understood it. If someone wants to be in love, there's nearly nothing you can do to stop them. And I love you, but you're way aways down south with the storms. You laughed, but be careful please.

it started quietly

2010-09-22T16:47:00.000-04:00

It's difficult to get used to the turning here, and I'm very sorry for the lack of posts, but I'm starting to settle in. Time is changeable, you know? But I get to see the sun rise over the valley each morning. Nevermind the early wakeup.

I like morning times because they are quiet. Nights are loud and bright with possibility and silver and hope. But mornings are still, as if the world is still remembering how to fill the place with sound. the world is bigger in the mornings- emptier. Nights are close, but in the morning the atmosphere is stretched out and clean. And if you have time to sit and watch it fill up with a cup of coffee while it cools enough for you to gulp down, well then. So much the better.

call to study

2010-08-31T16:37:00.000-04:00

"and I plan to be forgotten when I'm gone, 'cause I'll be leavin in the fall"

I've gone away to school dears, far away to the mountains where Autumn kicks up her skirts early and whirls round and round with old man Winter until they two collapse in a pile indistinguishable. The twilight here feels, as if its always known you, and the buildings watch over us as they have for countless generations. Tradition is the most important thing you can have and the ghosts hold it tight. They creak through the abandoned mill across the river, faithfully blowing their mournful horns, a call to work, though no one answers but us anymore. We go to class with ghosts, go to sleep, eat with them, as many as the living here; the city even a ghost of its former self, struck down by the new age of computerization.

glass beads and old lace

2010-08-17T11:14:00.000-04:00

Apologies about the absence. Been thinking about string and how it ties together, leads back to the start. I'm headed towards a new start as the year closes in on its final lap, wondering what needs to be left behind and if snow really does make a sound when it falls. Just when I'm supposed to be letting go, history holds on all the tighter- crumbling family albums and Grandfather so handsome in his uniform and navy cap, no wonder Grandmother waited. Bicycles and army tanks in Rome, and the gifts he brought back sit sentinel on the chest of drawers

distance is not for the fearful

2010-07-27T20:15:00.001-04:00

Today was lemonshine instead of sun and I hung the wash very carefully out to dry. Been polishing the mother-of-pearl, coaxing life back into the finished wood, can’t let beautiful things die in dust. These days the wind blows harder, pulling and tugging with scents from days half dreamt, half remembered. My heart pushes with it, shh shh a little longer now dear, have to still it just a little longer. Must remember to tie down the shutters when its time to leave, can’t have things knocking about while I’m gone

indian summer

2010-07-19T16:09:00.001-04:00

The sycamore bark started falling in June that year. That should have been the first sign, but no one remembered to watch; expected anything like what came. Ignore the warnings and you stitch your own demise into your hem. The year she left, it was the summer of the coyote attacks. Everyone was scared. The animals came out at dusk- no one knew from where- they hunted in twos with almost human-like cunning from usually solitary creatures. By the start of July, three little girls had been bitten, no older than 6 and as young as 3. None had died but the men touched their shotguns with light hands and murmured that it would only be a matter of time.

No one would remember that the moon had been curiously full for the past weeks, rising swollen and orange above the riverbeds which overflowed with a higher than usual tide. No one would recall the strange wind that blew in from the north that year; hot gusts that made the treetops dance till they moaned and knocked wires off poles. The wind smelled of blackberries and when it blew there were always more stars than usual. Things started turning up- things that had never been lost in the first place: buttons and keys and knives with mother of pearl handles, bits of glass and fine hair ribbons, gold-papered boxes, shells that belonged to fantastic creatures, and on the shore one morning, the delicate hand of a statue, fingers all broken off except for one, pointing out a judgment.

the incident on 75th street

2010-07-12T15:47:00.004-04:00

          The day was Sunday and, having nothing to do for once, I decided on a spur of the moment trip to Manhattan where I wandered aimlessly until I would up some forty blocks north of where I started at the entrance to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I bought myself a student-price ticket and went in. There I spent several very enjoyable hours wandering its cooled and echoing halls admiring the art both visual and tactile, before agreeing with myself that it was time to go. Not being able to find the exit, i eventually fell to retracing my steps through the exhibits, going backwards with a curious sense of rewinding time at a speeded pace, until I finally came to the place where I had first entered. While I had been inside the sky had darkened from blue to the threatening gray that generally heralds summer squalls, but the sun was still shining from the west in that way it sometimes does, and when I stepped out of the museum, the first drop of rain fell squarely on my forehead, like a christening. I didn't reach up to wipe it off. I spent a few minutes sitting on the front steps of the Met which were still quite warm from earlier in the day, watching the people come and the people go until the rain started coming down even harder and I figured I'd better get going so I got up and walked, smiling, back the way I had come
          Now, on my walk up I had passed a man sitting on a bench on the park side of 5th Avenue with a typewriter and a cardboard sign at his feet offering poems for a "suggested donation" of $2. As I passed him on my way there I considered stopping but didn't, telling myself that if he was still there when I got back then it was meant to be and I would buy a poem. But I had stayed later at the museum than I had planned and with the rain coming down ever harder I didn't expect to see him again. I started berating myself for not stopping when I had the chance, for though I told myself I didn't really need the poem, I was sorely disappointed, as if I had lost something very valuable. I knew it shouldn't matter, but I was upset in my heart nonetheless.
          But when I hit 75th Street going south, there he was, hat over his typewriter to protect it from the wet, hands clasped in front of him as he bent over his knees. So I walked up to him and asked what kind of poems his were. He looked up at me very slowly, starting with my shoes covered in the grime of city streets and transferring some of that onto my feet because they were only sandals. When his rising eyes met mine he said in a voice even softer than mine, "Whatever kind you want." Only a bus was going by just then so I hardly heard him and had to lean in very close and ask him to repeat it once more, which he then did. So I looked down and told his honey-coloured eyes to write "Your favorite." "My favorite," he said, and put his head down on his knees, eyes closed, hands clasped in front of him. He stayed like that for a long time as the rain started to let up, and then as quickly as it had come, the rain stopped. I had had visions of arriving at the station soaked to the skin and suffering through a wet and viciously air-conditioned ride home, but it then appeared that my fears were unfounded. I noticed his hair, soft as his voice and a dark honey colour as well, thin and gently curling. The hot breeze was playing tricks with it while he wasn't watching. Just the my poet straightened up and held my eyes for another long moment before removing his hat from the typewriter to his head and beginning to type. When he had finished he carefully creased his sheet of paper below where my poem ended, moistened the crease with his tongue, gently tore off what he had written and handed his words to me, honey-eyes still locked on mine. I read it through quickly and my heart skipped and stuttered a bit. Meeting his eyes again I said, "It's a good one," and handed him two five-dollar bills. $10, instead of the requested two. He said thank you very much in the same low soft tone and I said have a nice day and even though I knew he was still watching where my eyes would have been, I didn't look back until I was ten blocks south. When I did turn around of course he was far out of sight, and a curiously hot wind from the north knocked about my legs and ushered me towards my train. When I reached the station I was dry and silent. I had made it to my train thirty minutes early. When I looked down at the heart locket on my necklace which perpetually hangs open because the clasp is broken, I noticed that my entire chest (and probably neck too although I couldn't see) was a blotchy red, like my mother's turns when she gets upset or very emotional. I wondered if it had looked like that when the poet met my eyes. I sat down in the second car and turned my body to the window to hide the marks, watching the reflection of my eyelashes in the glass that looked out onto the dark of the tunnel, and waited for the train to move.
        I haven't told anyone about this encounter; it feels too... I don't know, too something to speak out loud, but I needed to put it down somehow and I feel like you're the right person to tell. I don't know if I'll tell anyone else...
Oh, the poem that scared me and set me wondering even as I fell in love with it he composed on the spot after looking into my eyes. I'll always wonder how he did:

                 A woman's heart is a museum

                 Whose chambers echo. Speak nothing

                 Which might suggest you should not

be here.

X.

                   July 11th 2010

Untitled.

turn the sky white

2010-06-27T18:24:00.000-04:00

Spring is settling down at last, driven into the ground with the weight of the air and the heaviness of scent. Graduation was a beautiful affair and I find myself grown. When did that happen I wonder? My cap and tassel now hang with the construction paper star they gave us upon graduation from elementary school. Shall I show you what's been happening?

I graduated

And had friends over for food afterward

Made a box out of a book

Made some friends

Hung the laundry out to dry

And took a leaf out of Siobhan's book playing with pearls and my camera

So the sun still burns and turns the Earth and there is no way of slowing the march but we dance on the way and though the sights flash by we smile and breathe in memory so that the next time it comes around we'll know what happiness smells like.

Thank you for bearing with me these past weeks, I promise to be back with more interesting things to say
Love

winding time

2010-06-09T17:37:00.000-04:00

I'm so sorry I haven't posted for a while and probably won't for a bit- the days are getting longer but as the sun heats the Earth it spins the world faster it seems... Graduation is coming up and I'm scrambling, finishing reports and a single thesis, trying to find words that mean something and arrange them in an original pattern but they keep skittering off across the floor. Must tie them down one day... just another task to add to the growing list.
I'll be back as soon as possible and back in my right mind once a proper amount of sleep has combed everything back into place, but for now, I'll leave you with some pictures that have been on my mind, a lot of love, and this beautiful song

dream catching

2010-06-01T21:35:00.000-04:00

Summer brings heat and rain and love. Long car rides windows down, the smell of salt in the air as we follow the path of the setting sun, speeding because we can't keep the joy in one spot. The air is fresh-washed, scrubbed clean by the downpour, sparkling clean for the sun and almost electric; it tingles when I breathe it into my lungs

This weekend was fleeting moments with old friends and realizing that the scariest thing of all is that we're growing up. Realizing that the tomorrow which seemed so far away when we dreamed as children has finally gotten here. We have become our dreams

(photos 1 & 2 from here , 3 by the talented ThankeeSai)

salt and lavender

2010-05-27T20:23:00.000-04:00

Woke this morning before the blackbird sang to walk by the sea no soul in sight just the wet on the grass and clouds pressing close. Summer shifts the winds and blows salt through my hair, so happy to be free she flirts and teases and weeps for joy. My hair curls in the damp, tossed and tumbled and blown awry, I must find a hat before the sun comes back.

Went to school looking like a wild child, the smell of the ocean on my skin. The day calls for lavender tea and a spot in the corner chair with pages to turn. Today I'm dreaming of loves lost at sea and girls with tousled curls who wait in white in the cellophane rain, and soldiers with straight backs and bright eyes who smell of tobacco and salt air.

beauty to cry for

2010-05-23T18:23:00.000-04:00

Ever since I was a little little girl I've been fascinated with ballerinas. The grace and suspension- turns that end only when they decide to and jumps they only come down from because they get bored; the delicate wrists and ankles that seem to weep as they arch into beautiful lines.
I made up my mind to become one, but after hours and hours of rehearsal today, I am so battered with bruises and blisters from the hard floor and angry pointe shoes that I can barely make it up the stairs. My feet are bleeding in a million places but it will all be worth it I tell myself.

Julie Kent; simply seeing her wonderful feet prompts deep sighs of longing. I wore my blue dress and the lovely heels that pinch but look so graceful with Grandmother into the city yesterday to see her. She was so sad and beautiful that I wept in my seat for the sight of her.

tea and longing

2010-05-17T22:23:00.001-04:00

Dear Teddy Bear,

Yesterday at the tea party I was very glad you came. I wasn't going to go, I usually don't have dresses fine enough for company, but yesterday I curled my hair and put on my best frock and sat up straight at the table like a real lady. Like Alice does when she is taken down off the shelf for tea in her velvet gown and best Sunday bonnet. I see the way you look at her and I don't blame you, she's beautiful with her blonde ringlets all swept up fashionably and her necklace of real pearls- I know they're real because I asked her once. What could I ever have that would tempt you from her perfection, even though I know in my sawdust heart I am the one you were meant for? But yesterday, when we were seated next to each other (maybe you had been poured one too many cups of tea) you slumped over against my arm and laid there for a long moment. I loved the way your black button eyes shone up at me and although you were righted rather quickly, I can still feel your soft weight on my arm. I know I only have yarn for hair and Alice tells the toy soldiers about all the sweet things you do for her, but I think you could love me too. And I think you think it too.

Love, The Little Rag Doll from Across the Room

sunrise nights

2010-05-15T11:29:00.000-04:00

Last night was glitter but not gold, but the air was warm and heavy with a smell from the tip of a memory that you could almost place
You had to keep an eye on the clock because it was feeling mischievous tonight: if you looked away it would skip ahead minutes and hours in the space of a single glance
With a toss of the head we said hang the consequences and the sun did indeed rise again this morning, imagine that...

requiem

2010-05-07T09:24:00.001-04:00

I had a dream about you last night

We were in a house in the woods and the woods were dark, but we didn't mind too much. Mother and had to leave and when she didn't come back, Father left to look for her. He said that we weren't to go outside without them there and he put me in charge of keeping you inside. I was supposed to protect you, but you slipped away when we were playing a game and you ran outside. I was so scared for you, but I ran after to try to get you to come inside. But when I went into those dark woods to look for you, they were soft and full of yellow light and beautiful people holding relaxed court in the trees. Scattered on the ground were tiny treasures; small bright gems, pearls, discarded crowns, tiny keys, miniature hearts of gold and coins and feathers of the deepest blues and reds. At first I searched for them under ferns and beneath stones, but when I looked up, I realized they were all around. I picked up some of the prettiest, but my favorite was the tiny gold key with a red stone and an 'A' wrought in filigree amongst the delicate vines at the top. But when I looked up the trees were dark, the beautiful people gone, and you nowhere to be found. Instead I could hear the wolves in the distance and smell snow on the air. So I ran home and locked myself in the dark cold house behind the thick door and hid in the sofa, my head buried in my arms. Mother and Father came home and found me like that, but you never did.

la danse du mots

2010-05-03T22:43:00.001-04:00

Lately there have been words running through my head that I can't seem to get rid of. I don't know why my conscious pulled them from the dusty corners of memory and decided to shove them to the front of my mind, but there they sit and pace the day away waiting to be spoken into existence.

There was once a writer who said that of all the endless combinations of words in the English language, "Cellar Door" was the most beautiful.
Here are some of my favorites:

blandiloquent                                         mellifluous
                                        ephemeral
             gossamer
                                                                    penumbra                                                                     lithe

But the very best I think?
sempiternal
Because it means forever and ever and then after that

K.

2010-05-01T01:02:00.000-04:00

Have you ever been in love with your very best friend?
The one who knew everything about you without ever having to ask? Who knew all the right things to say and just what to do about everything that went wrong?
I bring him my broken jewelry and he brings it back whole. He says he likes fixing things- good thing too, because I have a tendency to break.

you interested?

2010-04-25T15:10:00.000-04:00

Girl with the black beret,
Every time I break open a fortune cookie, I hope that there will be something on that little strip of paper so profound that it convinces me to finally tell you that I love you.

Sheepish Mountain Goat

They say a text is just a text,
but my heart's about to explode in my chest.

Dear A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y or Z,
You stole my heart, I love you too.
From A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y or Z.

T,
I was so distracted thinking about you this morning that I accidentally brushed my teeth with face wash. It was worth it.
— K

boy,
i was thinking this summer that maybe we could fall in love. you interested?
— girl

All of these are from the cutest site I've found in a long time: letterstocrushes.com
Visit it to renew your faith in love and remember that people are actually capable of these emotions
I promise you'll come away with a smile
What do you wish you could tell the person you care(d) for?

chez moi

2010-04-16T23:43:00.001-04:00

I see my house clearly in my mind.
The weathered furniture rescued from flea markets, given love and a new coat of paint
Mirrors and shelves and shelves and shelves of books, bits of driftwood and old pictures- bottles found and filled with the tiniest shards of smooth sea glass
Clocks and papers and shells and dried flowers in vases- a perfume that smells like home and the salt air
And white curtains that catch the wind and dance for joy of movement
And my room: with the window and the desk and the chair so certain, I know already I know. The bright light and the fall of the pen and the remains of breakfast in the corner. Both clutter and space and full, soft white light. And the birds call outside my open window, my beautiful paint-peeling window.
My house visits me in waking dreams- does yours?

my lighthouse keeper

2010-04-11T18:00:00.002-04:00

We tried to run again, but sleep got wise to our tricks and she caught up with us this time.
Still, it was without resent that we went to her arms, slightly abashed, like children caught hiding from their bath.
Now in the grey morning she gentles us with a warm breeze and muted skies
I think the world wants me to be in love- the boy with waves in his eyes and summer in his curls tastes of blueberries and lighthouse floors, letters tucked away to be read generations from now and rocking chairs with stories in the sanded grain.

The leaves are coming back you know. A greener green than before. Winter was worth the wait.

(photos are both mine and from here)

flyaway

2010-04-05T22:46:00.000-04:00

This could be the beginning of the end:

If we try to stay back we'll turn to stone, you've seen the garden of twisted figures standing like warnings. You know we can't stay here, and that makes the days we have left even sweeter.

Surely this must be only the end of the beginning, there is so much more left for us

skin like porcelain

2010-04-01T19:26:00.001-04:00

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

We tumbled home in the morning bloody and bruised but patched up best we could
and we smiled still. These are the smiles of tired days. These are the smiles of sandy hair sandy eyes sandy mind. These are what we have left over when we have lived everything else.
We watched the moon set and then flipped over and watched the sun rise on our other side.
This is what is left when you have lived even the memories.

(poem by e.e. cummings)

(photos from here)

whisp'rings

2010-03-26T22:45:00.000-04:00

As a child what did you believe?
Did you hold conversations with the bathroom towels or nod to the teacups as you passed by so they wouldn't feel slighted by your attention to the drinking glasses?
Made sure to whisper to every piece of furniture in your bedroom that you loved it just the same as all the other pieces?
I never spoke to the monsters under the bed. I knew they were there, but I'd jump fast into bed so they couldn't catch my ankles as I brought them up under the covers.
The jealous teacups don't speak anymore, but sometimes I still give them a nod as I pass.

Just to let them know I think of them.

(Photos by the talented Annelie Solis and from here)

wake up now

2010-03-24T16:59:00.001-04:00

Come on summer, I know you now, you know I know

Silly lazy, come along now, it's time to get going and lie down now

It's time to put the leaves back on the trees and that perfume on the breeze
And at the end of the day you can stretch out so nice and long that everything turns orange
Wouldn't you like to have a picnic on the shore with me?
Warm up the rocks, lets go- we're so long overdue

(I don't know all the wonderful photographers whose pictures these are, but can't you just taste summer on your skin?)

mademoiselle la pluie

2010-03-22T17:35:00.000-04:00

Hello there rain, I suppose you had to come back sometime didn't you?

Here you are an old man who likes to keep the sun abed, but in lilting tilting french you are a young girl eager to make the world grow.
I don't know which of you I like better-
The you who cautions me warm and safe back to my bed and lets me curl up with silky black coffee
Or the you who takes my chin and tilts it up with loving fingers so that my face is awash with the new
Maybe I just love you

P.s. The mists are back. Please guide the ships home to harbour and don't let the one crash into the jetty like last time.

oh peter

2010-03-21T19:51:00.000-04:00

Life: it loves the young
The spring is short and summer brings hotter days for sleeping through.
Open your windows wide, the breeze carries the sea- it lives for you, now
Break off a piece of chocolate and hold it in your mouth. Laugh when the wind catches at your dress- it only wants to play.
Life lives for the young.
So live.

...So live

the ballerina and the baseball player

2010-03-15T11:45:00.007-04:00

She packed up her things for the weekend. A weekend away from here is what I need, she thought. Can't let too much of life go by standing still.

The travel was long and tiring, but she finally found a welcoming place with a hard, warm floor she could rest on for the night or two. Friends awaited there. Friends who had been met before, and friends who hadn't. They took her out of the rain and the driving wind and fed her and warmed her and treated her as one of their own.

Across the rough, round table there was a man with eyes the color of chocolate which seemed to melt at the edges. They smiled at the ballerina and frequently flicked back to her face to check the tip of her nose or the curve of her collarbones. Her eyes, hazel and dancing, took in his hands, long as a pianist's (though he didn't play) and the way his cheek seemed to tug at his mouth when he laughed.

This night she slept not on the hard, friendly floor, but in a soft high bed where her long legs couldn't reach the ground. He smelled of earth and the clean sharpness of snow melt in rivers. He reminded her of summer and everything she wanted in life outside of the studio and the stage. Strong hands traced those collarbones and fit the slim waist. They laughed when they found he could enclose her tiny fist in one of those hands- it was perfectly baseball sized.

Together they hid from sleep and fought the night, but morning came anyway. It was time for the ballerina to move on, but he kissed her forehead and stole back a few more minutes. She walked back into the driving rain with a smile and the cold didn't bother her. She took the bed with her and stayed wrapped up in the soft, the smell of earth still in her hair.

perfect

2010-03-08T20:04:00.008-05:00

Once upon a time there was a beautiful little girl

Everything she said or did was perfect

But the little girl had a secret

She was in love with the elk who came to visit her by night

By day her father lined up suitors all the way to the shore to promise riches for her hand

She was not a princess

She was a deer, locked up in the body of a girl

And she was miserable

One night the elk came to her and asked her to come with him

So she stepped out of her body

And she went.

wednesday was bittersweet

2010-03-03T22:17:00.006-05:00

It seemed to me more bitter than sweet, the only thing that keeps me going through the winter is finally ended. It was my last, and now I'll never have that back. There were tears of course. And there was laughter, sweet as rain that melts away the snow. Smiles like sideways slashes, dragged down at one side from the sad and gone, but unable to be kept at bay and so the other side stretched up regardless. Hugs picked me up and squeezed me tight, even after they let go. Sure it was hard to speak, but a father-kiss on the forehead made me slash-smile again.

It was nice to be the oldest, the privileges, the responsibilities. That was the sweet. But the bitter was always in the corner trying to catch your eye and tell you its time to go.

-A Thought Like Light-
I can always come back.
Not to stay, but to visit.

I'll miss my winter family, but it will grow without me. I suppose it was mine for a while. They took me in out of the cold and chose to teach me instead. But four years went round and now it's time. They'll make a perfect family for the next winter misfit. Look, I've already patted down a soft place for you to fit. Here, take my spot.

lovely

2010-03-01T21:56:00.004-05:00

(photos)

monsters

2010-02-28T17:49:00.002-05:00

Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too.
They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.
~Stephen King

quickly

2010-02-18T00:07:00.003-05:00

I am going away to the North with my family for the weekend.

Be back soon with cold beauty
(+)

postacards from far away

2010-02-16T10:45:00.007-05:00

The clouds came and swept me up, I am alone; I am safe. The sky tried to protect me, sending down bits and bits of snowy ashes- cover me up, protect me from the day. The wind howls to drive away, to scare anything that would harm me. I am safe. I am bright. I am full of light. She takes me and keeps me warm and I know what it means to be chosen for this, I don't take it lightly. When the days turn to rust red and the fences fall and stars turn to dust and blow away leaving empty dark, I will remember this morning of perfect white. this purity. Did guitars ever sound so sweet? This morning when the absence was not but a whole. I do this for me now.

would it help if i spoke of someone else?

{enter little brother} looks like it's time to wake up

silver cracks in the clouds

2010-02-15T00:45:00.006-05:00

Tonight was glitter and brightness and a sky of molten silver. Dance in circles until time runs zig-zag and you are no longer here, but later. We pushed our voices out into the cold and the dark, but the sounds cracked open and whispers were born in the night. The angel watching in the stairwell sat above the night and looked at us with a sad smile on his beautiful face, while the ghosts took you by the soul and led you to where you won't be able to find your way back.

We chased the ghosts born from our broken laughter in the dark and came to the end of something. Can't go further, can't go further. When the sky is deep will you dive in? Stars brush past, burn your skin. At least the warmth is feeling. Don't let her catch you, she won't let go.

wandering

2010-02-10T17:36:00.003-05:00

I have so many questions- my mind wanders!
I need to feed it warm milk and a turkey sandwich
and let it curl up in a sunny spot and take a nap.
That'll make it feel better and it will come home again.

snow day!

2010-02-10T09:30:00.007-05:00

Because we live on the ocean, my little town barely gets snow some winters. Sure the rest of the state does, but it always seems to miss us by inches. We get one big storm each February, and this would have to be it!

And So I plan to spend the day reading Gatsby, drinking coffee, catching up on homework and being cozy.My younger brother and sisters have other plans for me, however... According to them we spend the entire day outside sledding and building igloos (that's how much snow we have now!) and then come inside and build a fire with hot chocolate.

We'll see where the day wanders :)

(photos from here and here)

love exploding

2010-02-01T21:16:00.004-05:00

but if a living dance upon dead minds
why,it is love;but at the earliest spear
of sun perfectly should disappear
moon's utmost magic,or stones speak or one
name control more incredible splendor than
our merely universe, love's also there:
and being here imprisoned,tortured here
love everywhere exploding maims and blinds
(but surely does not forget,perish, sleep
cannot be photographed,measured;disdains
the trivial labelling of punctual brains...
-Who wields a poem huger than the grave?
from only Whom shall time no refuge keep
though all the weird worlds must be opened?

~ e.e. cummings

(all photos from here)

award

2010-01-31T09:46:00.006-05:00

It's the last day of January, thank god. I know I've been complaining lately, but I'm starting to feel trapped... I need to sit outside. And I need to be able to turn my face to the sea and stand for a while and not get frostbite. In short, it needs to be warmer.

Today I'm going to finally respond to an award I was tagged with weeks ago (apologies) by the lovely Oh, French! Her blog is very pretty and I admire her thinking so I'm very honored she chose me :)

Ok, the requirements are that I tell 7 things about myself and tag 7 other bloggers, so here goes:

1. I am totally and irrevocably in love with the sea outside my window. I was born into it and now it has me, I'll never be able to leave. I could never live somewhere landlocked because I couldn't live without the smell of the salt on the breeze and the wind whipping my hair around my face. It's a part of me and I'm a part of the sea.

2. Sometimes I get a little too detached from reality and I... I sort of create worlds for myself. Have you ever seen the movie The Science of Sleep? My life's like that sometimes. When I see something that touches me, I put it in my world. It's full of strange things, like these for example. Maybe I'll tell more about this world sometime.
3. This morning I had a delicious variation of a croque madame for breakfast. Sort of made it up on the fly, but it turned out incredible!

4. I'm obsessed with this video by Sigur Ros- it's so beautiful
5. I have a rather important track meet today and I gave blood yesterday (kind of a dumb move) so I hope that doesn't affect how I run!
6. I often stop to think about how lucky I am to live in the present. Many people let their lives go by wishing that they were older or younger. I remind myself that 5 years ago, I wished I would be 17. Now I am, so I better be happy about it. In another 15 years I'll be wishing I was 17 again so I'll enjoy it now
7. None of my friends know I have a blog.

Hope that wasn't too rambling!!! ok, so the seven people I'd give this to are the seven lovely people who have chosen for some reason to take an interest in this blog. Thank you so much, you are all very wonderful!

xoxoxox

allez allez printemps

2010-01-30T09:28:00.010-05:00

lately I've been waking up and wanting to stay in bed with the moon. the moon is my friend these days- I go to sleep with her watching through the window in my room, and I wake up while she is still in the sky. I hardly ever see the sun because he can't find much time to stay these days and when he's about I am locked up inside the school.

spring should get here as fast as possible, oh I do wish it would, because I miss the sun as much as I love the moon. Here comes the part where I struggle to get out of winter- happens every year. Time move faster, will you, won't you? So we'll pretend it's spring and I'll go make some cake I think. This cake in fact (thanks to Darjeeling Dreams)

For the cake:
1/2 cup plain yogurt
1 cup granulated sugar
3 large eggs
1 1/2 all-purpose flour
2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
2 tsp. grated lemon zest (I use Meyer lemons, which are great for zesting)
1/2 cup canola oil
For the glaze:
Juice from 1 lemon
2 tbsp powdered sugar

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Butter a 9-inch round cake pan.
In a bowl, combine the yogurt, sugar, and eggs, stirring until well blended.
Add the flour, baking powder, and zest, mixing to just combine.
Add the oil and stir to incorporate. Pour and scrape the batter into pan.

Bake for 30-35 minutes, until a toothpick or cake tester inserted into the center comes out clean.
Cool cake for about 20 minutes. Then, remove the cake: place a plate over the pan;
hold the pan and the plate together, and flip quickly so that the cake is in the plate.
When the cake is thoroughly cooled, combine the lemon juice and powdered sugar in a small bowl
and brush it liberally onto the cake. The glaze should be thin
and should soak into the cake like a syrup

*eat it before it disappears into someone else!*

photo's from weheartit and flickr

slowing

2010-01-25T15:54:00.006-05:00

it rained today and the library leaked. my mind leaked too a little, but the windows sprang open and the wind carried the sea. the downpour was incredible, the world turned white from pelting rain. did you know that the Earth's rotation slows a little each year from Dust in the atmosphere? one day it will stop entirely. we would spend six months in darkness and six months in light. from something as tiny as specks of Dust.

I ran up to the third floor of the school today and climbed out the window onto the roof. you can see the sea and the smell hit me harder than the droplets of rain and the wind caught my hair and tried to run away with it. the clouds tossed and turned but I hid behind the bell tower and nobody saw me in the midst of the tempest. it was easing up out over the water and patchy sunlight struck the waves, sending up a brilliant, blinding light. I was safe until the sun struck me. then I got down and went to class.

les reves en francais

2010-01-23T19:03:00.006-05:00

recently I've been dreaming in french. I've been thinking in it too... this morning I made pancakes (a new recipe that was quite delicious, perhaps I'll post it) but as I was moving through the quiet morning kitchen, I found myself thinking my sentences in french.

I'll tell you about the dream.
It concerned the boy I was in love with for a solid two years.
I was walking through the halls of my elementary school- a hundred year old brick building with secrets only children could discover- it had a beautiful library. Circular, with a dome and tall french doors that looked out into a circular patio and courtyard. It was autumn and I was wearing a white dress with a blue ribbon in my hair, like I would have when I was 5, but I was older. It was afternoon and the sun came through the red and yellow leaves and through the french doors to me on my window seat with my book. Boxes and bookshelves were all around me, tall and crowding over me comfortably. I was alone. And I was safe.

Then he came out of nowhere and I jumped up. I told him it was time for me to move on and his eyes turned down at the edges. He told me "Mais, je t'aime maintenent. Comment pouvais-tu ne voir pas?" and he held me. But I didn't look at him. Only at the sun through the window through the leaves and how the whole world was yellow and warm. And then he left.

this song was playing

the long road back

2010-01-22T17:30:00.000-05:00

I haven't posted in a while and I'm sorry about that.

My good friend's father died very suddenly and tragically last Thursday and we were all left in shock for a bit. He was a very good man. So getting back to where we were before has been a journey.

You never know when you'll be picked up by fate and deposited somewhere else. It takes so long to get back to what you thought you knew. Sometimes you never really make it back, but you settle somewhere else and that becomes comfortable until you are picked up again.

It makes you think- if you were taken by surprise, where would you wake up the next morning?

If anything could happen? If you could be anywhere?

(Movie from here)

Where would you wake up?

blueberry love

2010-01-13T22:16:00.000-05:00

I still remember that summer we met.
It was the time I first found a voice of my own.
You might have had something to do with it, or you might not have.
I'll never know. Do you remember me at all from those blueberry months?
I saw you on stage that first night-
I misheard your name- but you always stood out.

Did you see me? I'd show off in front of you.
Glance over and blush when you only walked by.
If I happened to sit near you by chance, by lucky accident,
I could feel you like electricity through the humid air.
Every part of me was aware of you sitting close enough to reach out and touch.
But I doubt if you ever saw me.

I was so so in love with you that summer we were 12 together.
And every summer after that. Each and every summer.
Did you ever know? I imagined you did and you'd come sweep me off my feet.
You never did, but did you know?

You beat me every bout, but did you ever see my face behind the wire mesh mask? I can still remember how it felt to want to speak with you so bad. Just to want your look. I think I became friends with everyone around you, your sisters, but never you. Funny how that worked out. Now we're the best of friends and miles away. I won't second guess things. I'll just wait until I can tell you. If that's another 5 summers, so be it. I'll be right there with blueberry stains on my knees.

(photos are mine from that summer)

easy as spotting

2010-01-11T14:17:00.000-05:00

(photos)

I am sick again unfortunately, but the sickness is preferable to a double period of physics which I would have had today, so I don't hate it with all my heart (just the part that wants to dance)

you know who the dancers are because they may be too sick to go to school, but never too sick to go to class. Now the attempt will be to convince Maman that I do have my priorities straight after all...

Sitting in my bed, my sky is silver like an old man's hair- somber, not sad. The bare trees wait and if I look at the ivy, not the melting snow, I can almost convince myself that it's the end of March and I've made it through the coldest, darkest months.

It's a trick I have to play with my mind- a simple parlour illusion, like spotting a turn in ballet. I hang on to the dregs of autumn for as long as I can look back as the world spins, and then when I can reach no further- release- and snap my head around like an elastic, and there we are in spring.
With this I can trick time.

...it might just work...

dear dorian

2010-01-04T21:31:00.000-05:00

I'm in the process of reading A Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, have you ever read it? I've taken to carrying it with me wherever I go (a bit silly, no?) but I cannot release it.

I wish I could crawl into the pages of the world he paints
oh Mr. Wilde will you take me away into the labyrinth of your imagination?
We could get lost, you and I, in Basil's garden

and kiss the bees as they slumber past.
We'd never get old because
you would keep me immortal in your mind
and though I should end up jealous of a portrait,
we two could conquer the world with words and flowers.

"Now, wherever you go, you charm the world. Will it always be so? . . . You have a wonderfully beautiful face, Mr. Gray. Don't frown. You have. And Beauty is a form of Genius- is higher, indeed, than Genius, as it needs no explanation. It is one of the great facts of the world, like sunlight, or springtime, or the reflection in dark waters of that silver shell we call the moon. It cannot be questioned. It has its divine right of sovereignty, It makes princes of those who have it. You smile? Ah! . . . Live the wonderful life that is in you! Let nothing be lost upon you."

photos

January 2

2010-01-02T17:43:00.000-05:00

January 2

come back come back to the world today- I didn't quite want to, but figured now was as good a time as any...

the tripping piano downstairs will make it a bit easier.
watch the fingers tumble and play back and forth back and forth.
they are confined to such a tiny space but
how many different melodies come from these restrictions?

I brushed up my room today- finally hung those shadowboxes I made a while ago... and fixed the ribbon on the typewriter in the corner. do you like?

photos are mine

you and me

2010-01-01T18:39:00.000-05:00

Happy New Years!!

Where did the days go?
They danced away on pretty patterned feet and you and me
we watched them turn into thin pink clouds on the horizon
that day the stars came down.

We've grown older you and I and the pretty spiral shells under the tree
are cracked with cold but in the corner of the sky
is that piece of sparkly stone you gave
me still shining shining shining.

You and me we'll dance through this new year
and the boats way out at sea will slip back to us across the ice
before we sleep so we'll always know.

I know it because you told me I never had to cry.

safe home

2009-12-26T12:55:00.000-05:00

hello hello and hello a late merry christmas to all!

I'm up in Maine with family for the holidays and it's been eating eating eating since the moment we got here. I'm not going to fit in the car to go home!

The days here are muffled by snow and you come to think of the house in a whole new way. It's your protector from the whirling wind that calls you to come dance. The house keeps you safe and silent and out of danger- a little shelter you built yourself (though I know I didn't really)

And when you survive the storm, resist the call, you go out and survey the result and build lookout perches from the rubble

Stumble inside tired but happy into that house full of food and animals and fire warmth and family and white cats curled up in the chair by the stove. And pie.

Cat's sneezing in my lap now...
There'll be more pictures to follow- Happy Holidays
photos

that last bit

2009-12-17T17:05:00.000-05:00

What an awful day.
It was one of those where you just don't have any more strength when you come through at the end. You try and try and you give it all you've got and then you give just a bit more and it's that last part that kills you.

It's one of those where your heart is far too worn out for emotions. It says hush now, go away for a bit and let me sleep.
shhh shhh, quiet a bit longer dear heart, just stay a bit longer.

"You can do nothing more for me. You stupid tenacious child, don't you see? You can't fix this like one of your clocks that you pull apart and fiddle with until they chime again!"
In a breath it looked to his eyes as if she deflated. Head still held high, she was smaller, something delicate to be blown away by an impatient sweep of the eyes. She shuddered
"But you said- you told me... You said." her mouth accused
"I lied. Don't you see? It was a dream- nothing more"

the very best word

2009-12-12T08:37:00.000-05:00

What is the best word anyone has ever called you?

When I was fourteen, the boy I had a crush on told me I was 'unflappable'
I thought it was the greatest thing anyone had ever said to me.

fog thick as stew

2009-12-09T23:12:00.000-05:00

the fog rolled in tonight. driving along the roads by the shore, it was so thick you could knit a blanket from it. "thick enough for stew" grandma would say. familiar sights and places became strange and twisted, wrapped up in ghostly grey tendrils of mist.

on the road home, headlights from cars carried miles in the fog, illuminating the cloud from within. but once the car passed, it was just me and the mist.

in a small coastal town, when the mists come, it's no joke. everything shuts down- everyone goes inside. inside it's bright and cheerful against the chill, but once you step out, you wish you hadn't. things crawl in from the sea. you can never see them- they're good at staying only in the corners of your eye- but you feel them there. things that aren't meant to be touched. they brush up against you when the mists come in.

i had to jump over the threshold with both feet so the sprites wouldn't catch hold of the foot left behind and sneak a ride into the house to cause trouble. you never know on nights like these...

winter dancers

2009-12-08T19:18:00.000-05:00

hello again- haven't written in a while (blame it on the schoolwork) but hopefully I'll be able to get back into the swing of things now that all there is left to do is sit and wait...

winter is here. the first snow fell in the tiny town I call home and although the flakes didn't stick, the feeling did.

all I want to do is curl up by the fire and watch the flame fairies whirl and flicker through the burning twigs, quietly touching each one until every branch joins in the dance. that dance will be the last thing they do, but oh what a way to go. If you aren't careful, you might lose yourself in the dance. Then when they beckon and call you to join, you might forget that you mustn't answer and they'll have you. They mean no harm I'm sure, but all the same...

Can you see them? Can you see the little dancers at their games?

sunday is of

2009-10-18T14:25:00.000-04:00

Sunday is of:

~ hot chai tea

~ rain tapping pat pat pat on the roof

~ wrapped up in the warmest sweater of all and the jeans that have seen this life

~ a good book and a good pen to scribble in the margins

~ bright red fire wet leaves slapped against my window

~ boxes of old photographs that smell of memory

~ and I hide from the day, from the cold, from the icy rain with a gold locket and key around my neck around my heart

listening to this over and over and over and over

homecoming weekend

2009-10-17T09:31:00.000-04:00

What the imagination seizes as beauty must be truth, whether it existed before or not.

~John Keats

I was seized with the imagination of the day and ran eagerly out of my house, dragging one of my sisters by the arm. She wasn't thrilled at first, but we were both soon caught up by the beauty of early autumn and homecoming weekend in my town. Hopefully we win!!! Football is kind of a big thing here- and when I say big, I mean the greatest thing since sliced bread to a lot of people...

But we were able to find some peace and solitude in the ancient overgrown graveyard hidden away in the woods by my house. That's my little sister with the camera around her neck. Isn't she pretty?

hold that thought reality

2009-10-14T16:22:00.000-04:00

Every now and again in life (and especially in fall and especially when one is stressed) you need to just let go of reality for the tiniest moment. In class or at home or in transit just for a second, if I let my mind wander to the places it wants to instead of keeping it on a very short leash, I find the rest of the day becomes lighter and oh so much more fun to experience.

Try it! I promise it does wonders

"There is no use trying," said Alice; "One can't believe impossible things." "I daresay you haven't had much practice" said the Queen. "When I was your age, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast"

~ Lewis Carroll

(pictures)

autumn not fall

2009-10-08T16:50:00.000-04:00

(the ancient amusement park my town- down by the sea)

Whoever invented the college application process must have had a deep, dark and dastardly vendetta against all young scholars. Perhaps he himself was rejected and decided to make it as tedious as possible for others to get in... or maybe (as I am inclined to believe at this point) colleges are just evil and like watching their prospective students writhe in agonizing anticipation... oh dear.

however, it was an absolutely beautiful day today, with those autumn clouds just the perfect shade of puffy and nearly silver in sound. As soon as class ended and I was able to reclaim my car keys from a mischevious friend I took my dog to the park and spent nearly an hour bathed in that thick yellow sort of light that one may only find on October afternoons.

Made this simple french pastry rather late last night, but it turns out to be the perfect thing to nibble on an autumn afternoon- especially with a good cup of hot coffee!

Instructions: must be eaten outside (weather permitting)

must NOT be consumed in a rush

enjoy!

(recipe from Darjeeling Dreams- thanks!)

Raspberry financier

5 tbsp of butter, cut into cubes

1/2 tsp vanilla extract

1/2 c finely ground almonds

1/2 c all-purpose flour

1 cup of sugar (caster or confectioner's if you have it, I used caster)

1/4 tsp salt

3 egg whites

1/2 tbsp honey

12 tsp (1/4 c) raspberry jam

Preheat oven to 400 degrees f, and grease a madeleine/muffin pan.

Melt butter in a saucepan, until nut-brown.

As soon as it turned brown, transfer into a bowl. Add vanilla extract.

In a separate, larger bowl, combine ground almonds, flour, sugar, and salt.

Whisk eggs, then honey into flour mixture. Whisk until well incorporated.

Whisk the melted butter-vanilla mixture into the egg-flour mixture.

Pour two tablespoons of batter into each madeleine/muffin mold.

Spoon a teaspoon of raspberry jam on top of each financier.

Bake for 15-20 minutes, until just golden-brown on the edges.

Makes 12 financiers.

wild adventures

2009-10-07T16:06:00.000-04:00

ADVENTURE OF THE WEEK

This morning I woke up at 2am because it started raining. Now normally I'd love that- laying in bed listening to the drops rush down my windows and roof- but instead, i threw myself out of bed and raced outside in the pitch black to close the sunroof of my car. Dumb move leaving it open- yes.

But it didn't get too too wet and it was somewhat/mostly dry by morning... life has ways of making itself interesting whenever things get too normal...

On a totally unrelated note, I am BEYOND excited for Where the Wild Things Are to come out!!!! It was one of my favorite books as a kid and just hearing the lines brongs back memories- can't wait for Spike Jonze's interpretation!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nYp-uW6r9eM&feature=related

I must have it on the mind because i found myself doodling in a notepad during class and what came out was the picture at the top of the page (i used whiteout to make the clouds and sail) It made me think of Max and how I wish I could go exploring just like him.

Oh well... I guess I'll just have to create my own adventures!

wishing on raining stars

2009-09-29T17:22:00.000-04:00

Being sick is so much easier on a gary-ish day. This one was perfect in fact- I'm curled up in my bed feeling miserable (so many of my friends have mono, I hope it's not that!) Looking out the window at the very beginning of October (even remembered to say rabbit when I woke up yesterday!) The leaves should start changing soon, and falling. Fall is my very favorite season. Sometimes the sunlight seems almost tangible and the clouds are thick and puffy, turning deep purples and pinks at twilight. Plus you can pull out all those warm comfy clothes and just sit, with a cup of tea, and forget about everything you need to do for a bit.

A few days ago, before I was cursed with this stuffy nose,scratchy throat and achy body, I was walking my dog in the park by my house with my baby sister (she's not really a baby anymore, but I still like to call her that) a gust of wind came through and coaxed the leaves to jump from their branches and twirl through the air to land at our feet. My sister danced down the path trying to cath them. "Look!" she cried "It's raining leaves!"

She was so beautiful spinning and jumping around, i could only stand and watch her. She finally caught one before it hit the ground and brought it over for me to see. She told me that if you catch a leaf before it falls, you get to make a wish. So i wished- well, if I told you then it wouldn't come true!

Happy Autumn and may all your wishes come true!

pictures

if only time

2009-09-28T10:39:00.000-04:00

While wasting what time I have by trying to put off unpleasant things that must be done (like applying for scholarships and writing supplemental essays) my mind wandered as it does now and then... Googled "if only time" and here's what I got:

if only time could stand still and embrace the day

if only time were more like plasticine

if only time flew like a dove

"it’s a great pity that time is not more like plasticine, where one could gather up all the little bits and pieces — the leftover minutes and hours that were spent waiting for meetings to start, standing in queues, sitting in traffic, watching someone else’s food go round and round in the microwave — and squash them together into usable hours, like one big ball that gradually turns the colour of mud."

~ Sarah Britten

I think this is a wonderful thought (and plus, plasticine is a much nicer word for the stuff than Play-Doh, which has become its name) If we could use all that wasted time and bunch it together like leftover cookie dough once you cut out the shapes, you would get so much more delicious pastry out of life.

However, this is not the case, unfortunately, and I must stop wasting my plasticine lest it harden into unusable clumps that crumble and scatter all over the floor when you pick them up.

(pictures from when I went to Paris last winter)

la france

2009-09-26T09:31:00.001-04:00

So, here's the only deal:

I adore France to the absolute bottom of my heart- I love visiting, I love reading about it, I love seeing pictures, I love the food and the art and the atmosphere- and yet, I am going to fail AP French in school parce-que je ne peux pas parler francaise (because I can't speak it). I wish I could just open my mind and my heart and the culture would flow in through my pores.

My mother grew up in France. What a life that musts have been... Paris in the '60s...

To live in the twists and turns and secret corners of this city

And spend summers in these fields by the sea in Normandy

To lie in these fragrant fields for hours...

And when you tired of that, to lose yourself in a place where no one knows you, but the city itself accepts you...

To drive this car along endless roads when you needed to get away...

To come here and picnic with family (she has four brothers) and read poety on a blanket...

And to come home and curl up in a window seat and watch winter strike Paris with all his strength, but never conquer...

Photos via here, and here

The one story that stuck with me out of all the Paris stories was this:

One morning when my mumma and her twin brother were just two years old, they got up before anyone else and (god knows what possessed them) picked up their mother's huge old Underwood typewriter between them and proceeded to shove it out a third story window of their appartment at the Place Vendome (here). My grandmother was awakened by a knock from a kindly, albiet slightly apprehensive, Parisian holding her mutilated typewriter. By that time the twins, having acomplished their goal, were back in bed like little angels.

Aren't children delightful?

welcoming autumn

2009-09-21T20:36:00.001-04:00

Sunday was spent saying goodbye to summer. It was a good season, it really was, but time to move on I think. Took a couple of friends and a certain boy down the block from my house to the beach. They brought their guitars and the boy and I listened while they played an adage to autumn.

It was one of those afternoons that goes on forever and the sunlight just gets thicker and softer, causing time to move slower and slower through it. We lay on our bellies on the rocks and watched the drama that is life in a tidal pool unfold. The crabs and the snails and little fish- the green grasses waving in the invisible current.

We left before the sun set so that in our minds, the place would stay perpetually afternoon and the night would never bring an end to the light.

Today I made a cake: baking has a wonderful ability to soothe- and noticed a snatch of unexpected beauty in the way the light hit a bottle of water on my windowsill

Autumn's Here

a silver chain of rain

2009-09-16T17:48:00.000-04:00

Tell me how many beads there are
In a silver chain
Of evening rain
Unraveled from the tumbling main
And threading the eye of a yellow star:
- So many times do I love again.
~Thomas Lovell Beddoes

It rained today. I went to class in rain and I came home in rain. On the third floor which looks out of ancient windows onto the roof, the seething purple clouds provided endless distraction from Calculus (quite welcome) and it rained through English Lit, the drops providing a soothing counterpoint to the analysis of The Power and the Glory- Graham Greene anyone?

Having little to when when I got home (for once...) and with visions of raindrops in my head I set out to photograph my garden that will soon be gone thanks to autumn

And a lovely spiderweb- I love how raindrops and dew cling to each strand

And then I got to go back to my cozy little room and read my books with a nice cup of tea and some toast! Who could ask anything more of a rainy day?

here's to

2009-09-15T17:17:00.000-04:00

Everyone gets that feeling once in a while, when you start something new and it feels like you've been doing it your whole life? I felt it when I first went away to sleep away camp when I was eleven: it felt like I had been going for years. Well that's what this school year is feeling like. Four days into classes and I've been in this world for ages.

For all that it's school, it's a wonderful world really: ancient stone walls silently keep the secrets of countless students; forgotten bits of buildings used in decades past that time slowly forgot; tucked away corners which you need to know the school to be able to find; the sycamore trees, the brook, the paths criss-crossing in the back woods; the grass that grows to your knees in the spring when they forget to cut it...

If you want it to be, it can be as magical as the garden you played in as a child

Photos from here

life in the heart of

2009-09-14T22:06:00.000-04:00

Life in deserts was sandy,

Life in caves was lonely,

Life in ocean was salty,

Life in stars was resplendent,

Life in car was modern,

Life in mountains was exhilarating,

Life in Sun was brilliant,

Life in forests was mystical,

Life in shadows was enigmatic,

Life in battlefield was belligerent,

Life in pearls was exotic,

Life in office was monotonous,

Life in sky was breezy,

Life in submarine was voluptuous,

Life in trees was mischievous,

Life in roses was fragrant,

Life in grass was intoxicating,

Life in webs was silken,

Life in paradise was divine,

Life in temples was sacrosanct,

Life in gutter was abhorrent,

Life in dirt was deplorable,

Life in rain was seductive,

Life in beehives was vivacious,

Life in wine was sensuous,

Life in gardens was pleasant,

Life in mousetrap was asphyxiating,

Life in fists was curled,

Life in prison was disdainful,

Life in whirlpool was spinning,

Life in theater was dramatic,

Life in art was enchanting,

Life in boats was undulating,

Life in diamonds was glittering,

Life in moon was milky,

Life in roots was entangling,

Life in chains was hedonistic,

Life in bareness was lascivious,

Life in haziness was romantic,

Life in knives was lethal, Life in Chili was piquant, Life in swings was fascinating, Life in lechery was insane, Life in rhythm was celestial, Life in pulse was frantic, Life in lies was cowardice, Life in superstitions was non-existent, Life in revenge was pugnacious,

But life in the heart of your beloved was, is, and always will be love, love and only love

Photo credits: Jonathan Sloman, weheartit.com

Poem: Nikhil Parekh