the sun followed me to where apollo, with his lyre, stood guard over the old market square. magnolia stellata, wrapped in white paper, confetti collecting in the cracks between cobblestones. stary rynek, the edge of springtime. and i watched, as the morning sky, which had been morphidae (i mean to say it was black at the edges) broke into a dawn that spilt ribbons of light like they were blue silk caught in the wind. and there were pale sunbeams pouring, over this silver, silent, world. Advertisements
07/01/19 ever onwards. i like to imagine that each january day rolls something like a crashing wave, the tide is coming in and the water is pushing you further, further, into the unfamiliar, fantastic, frightening, foreign, territory of a new year. on a particularly dreary winter’s evening, you might need reminding, to step up your observing, look closely, you’ll see. this is a land of: half-moon teapots. salmonberry jam from kodiak island, or strawberry, from the supermarket. sugar pine scent on your wrists, on the breeze, there are far away and ancient forests to be wandered. catkins that pretend to be caterpillars, caterpillars that pretend to be catkins. seashore scilla amethystina. springtime glory of the snow, bulbs through the post.