This morning i walked outside and saw two mourning doves in the trees. There was also an uncharacteristically quiet blue jay flying about. It was early, the mist was rising from the snow. The sky was a light grey that contrasted with the tree silhouettes; nearly brutal in its definition.
It is a new day, what shall we make of it?
a tiny worm–
in its grand wormness
I have no words this week. Instead I’ll be posting some photos and save the words for another time.
she listens to the crow’s call,
and it’s like coming home
“Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,” he told me, “just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.”
quote by F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
he was neither wild nor free,
and still-
i saw clearly his spirit of flame and fire
the beauty of a grey day
is the hard, unforgiving, black edge
