Here was yet another liminal space, a crossing point between the mundane and the magical. Winter, it seems is full of them: fleeting invitations to step out of the ordinary.
from the book, Wintering by Katherine May, 2020
Though they crawl on the gilded borders of illuminated manuscripts from another time, often seen as marginalia, I see moths as living oracles who do not speak but quietly land on the surface of things, often as a disturbance calling our attention to the importance of all that is hidden.
excerpt from the Foreword by Terry Tempest Williams in the volume of photography entitled, Mariposas Nocturnas by Emmit Gowin, 2017
History has failed us, but no matter.
opening line from the book, Pachinko by Min Jin Lee, 2017
After a rain-threatening morning it is a beautiful Indian summer day, the most remarkable hitherto and equal to any of the kind. Yet we kept fires in the forenoon, the warmth not having got into the house. It is akin to sin to spend such a day in the house.
from The Journal 1837-1861 by Henry David Thoreau
spanishwoods 