the sun is passing the sign of pisces, a snow moon is sinking into dangerous seas. well, a careful love was never enough for me, and it has been found again – eternity. it’s a spire shell tossed to a sacred well or a sailor’s prayer set to the song of hosanna’s bell it’s a red ribbon tied around a golden bough and the pale yellow crocuses growing in circles now. mariner’s way is an ancient track that sailors once used to travel across dartmoor. people aren’t quite sure where it was, exactly, but there’s probably some ancient scroll hidden away somewhere dusty, just waiting to be discovered. hosanna’s bell can be found at buckfast abbey, it’s a benedictine monastery, they’re famous for their tonic wine, too. i’ve not tried it. sharing honest writing is very difficult for me, even on this odd public diary/blog. Advertisements
he was stood at the brink of evening, honesty eyes open wide, each their own little lunaria full moon. it would be sundown soon, he knew, and so silently he watched, as the afternoon sky, which had been streptocarpus bethan blue began to sink into a darkness that would be lit only, that night, by stippled specks of starlight, silver ink and indigo. where i was, there was ivy hanging from the ceiling and i was thinking about iseult’s grief, and love everlasting, and how tendrils and vines will tie themselves in knots. in two terracotta pots, forget me nots.