piles of books and many naps
coffee, tea and mushroom caps
deer tracks in the crystal snow
pooh and piglet always know
how to let the happy grow
in you, in me, above, below
the branches of our fevered dreams
that glitter, glow and brightly gleam
He distrusted her affection; and what loneliness is more lonely than distrust?
Excerpt from Middlemarch, by George Elliot, 1871 &1872
“And the painting, above his head, was the still point where it all hinged: dreams and signs, past and future, luck and fate. There wasn’t a single meaning. There were many meanings. It was a riddle expanding out and out and out.”
from The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt, 2013
Almost anything that caught her wandering eye, Mother gathered and brought indoors. In bottles, tea pots, dishes, and jugs, in anything old or beautiful, she’d put roses, beech-boughs, parsley, hellebore, garlic, cornstalks, and rhubarb.
from Cider with Rosie by Laurie Lee, 1959
That blow in the night, which gave me concussion, scarred me, I think, forever–put a stain of darkness upon my brow and opened a sinister door in my brain, a door though which I am regularly visited by messengers whose words just escape me, by glimpses of worlds I can never quite grasp, by grief, exultation, and panic…
from Cider with Rosie by Laurie Lee, 1959
And I thought, as he reached down to brush the hair from my eyes, the trouble with dreaming is that we eventually wake up.
from The Year of the Monkey, by Patti Smith, 2019
She was like a woman of Leonardo da Vinci’s, whom we love not so much for herself as for the things that she will not tell us.
from A Room with a View by E.M. Forster, 1908
On days like this, the clouds probably absorbed the sounds from the surface of the earth. And not just sounds. All kinds of things. Perceptions, for example.
From, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami, 1997
tea with friends
thoughts of miro
sunny afternoons
colored pencils tied with twine
book sale at the library
shards of distant memories
kisses from the pup
this book: The Alienist by Caleb Carr and
this movie: Loving Vincent
“Inspiration is the unforeseen quantity, the muse that assails at the hidden hour.”
Excerpt from Devotion by Patti Smith, 2017
spanishwoods 