Nº. 1 of  107

o wayward star

"She did not speak for she had no speech
She was a mermaid who had lost her way
Not knowing tears, she did not weep tears
Her eyes were the color of distant love."

Never put your faith in a Prince. When you require a miracle, trust in a Witch.

—Catherynne M. Valente (via anachronisticfairytales)

Aunt Leaf
by Mary Oliver

Needing one, I invented her -
the great-great-aunt dark as hickory
called Shining-Leaf, or Drifting-Cloud
or The-Beauty-of-the-Night.

Dear aunt, I’d call into the leaves,
and she’d rise up,
like an old log in a pool,
and whisper in a language
only the two of us knew
the word that meant follow,

and we’d travel
cheerful as birds
out of the dusty town and
into the trees
where she would change us
both into something quicker -
two foxes with black feet,
two snakes green as ribbons,
two shimmering fish -
and all day we’d travel.

At day’s end
she’d leave me back at my own door
with the rest of my family,
who were kind, but solid as wood
and rarely wandered. While she,
old twist of feathers and birch bark,
would walk in circles
wide as rain and then
float back

scattering the rags of twilight
on fluttering moth wings;

or she’d slouch
from the barn like a gray opossum;

or she’d hang in the milky moonlight
burning like a medallion,

this bone dream,
this friend I had to have,
this old woman made out of leaves.

Aunt Leaf" by Mary Oliver

http://www.best-poems.net/mary_oliver/poem-13049.html

(via portermoto)

boyhood:

Mary L. Macomber, Night and her Daughter Sleep (detail)
1902

boyhood:

Mary L. Macomber, Night and her Daughter Sleep (detail)

1902

(Source: detailsofpaintings, via artdetails)

This evening, I sat by an open window
and read till the light was gone and the book
was no more than a part of the darkness.
I could easily have switched on a lamp,
but I wanted to ride this day down into night,
to sit alone and smooth the unreadable page
with the pale gray ghost of my hand.

Ted Kooser, “A Happy Birthday”, in Delights and Shadows  (via goghst)

(Source: hiddenshores, via journalofanobody)

memoryslandscape:

As a child I imagined the life beyond this life
as one enormous room, all
mist and kinship,

now I would have to insist on walls and factions,
hidden compartments, corridors leading off
to secret gardens steeped in changing light,

not to be set apart, but to meet again
in the old way, coming…

When I left home at sixteen I bought a small rug. It was my roll-up world. Whatever room, whatever temporary place I had, I unrolled the rug. It was a map of myself. Invisible to others, but held in the rug, were all the places I had stayed — for a few weeks, for a few months. On the first night anywhere new I liked to lie in bed and look at the rug to remind myself that I had what I needed even though what I had was so little.

Sometimes you have to live in precarious and temporary places. Unsuitable places. Wrong places. Sometimes the safe place won’t help you.

Why did I leave home when I was sixteen? It was one of those important choices that will change the rest of your life. When I look back it feels like I was at the borders of common sense, and the sensible thing to do would have been to keep quiet, keep going, learn to lie better and leave later.

I have noticed that doing the sensible thing is only a good idea when the decision is quite small. For the life-changing things, you must risk it.

And here is the shock — when you risk it, when you do the right thing, when you arrive at the borders of common sense and cross into unknown territory, leaving behind you all the familiar smells and lights, then you do not experience great joy and huge energy.

You are unhappy. Things get worse.

It is a time of mourning. Loss. Fear. We bullet ourselves through with questions. And then we feel shot and wounded. And then all the cowards come out and say, ‘See, I told you so.’

In fact, they told you nothing.

Jeanette Winterson, from Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal? (via weissewiese)

(via lifeinpoetry)

Let yourself be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you really love. It will not lead you astray.

—Rumi (via semper-evolvere)

(Source: soultalk56, via semper-evolvere)

Nº. 1 of  107