
buttercups in the grass
dreams in a thunderstorm
shells in a bowl
gratitude in a breath


buttercups in the grass
dreams in a thunderstorm
shells in a bowl
gratitude in a breath






nature is art

it was grey and rainy,
the fog clinging to our wet coats,
but we laughed over breakfast–
later collecting rose buds,
maiden hair ferns
and a wooden mushroom

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

let it go

we are all bridges

everything awakens

travel through time
fly at midnight
dust the pollen from fragile wings

he was silent