
sometimes the most common objects
contain the beauty of lost treasure

sometimes the most common objects
contain the beauty of lost treasure
there are days where the heart hurts
people say you have to make your own luck, but luck is complicated
i looked everywhere for you,
and in the end–
you were exactly where i had left you
coffee and toast in the morning
mountain snow on a razor-crisp, cold day
pine needles in the rain
old books being opened against a warm, buttery light
puppies biting with tiny razor teeth and sweet milky breath
pink peonies and roses in a jam jar
rain fell in long sheets against the windows,
the sound of quacking ducks traveled on the rising mist,
hot tea sat cooling in a china cup,
while the dog slept on tattered blankets–
another day unraveled from the worn fabric of time
“Snowflakes are not made for solitude; each, with outflung arms, tangles and meshes with its neighbor; over time, they compress, become ice. But ice is mutable, even in the deepest cold. Inside a glacier, pressure and affinity will melt ice at temperatures far below freezing, so that two pieces, in contact with each other, melt and refreeze as one.”
from the book, Under a Pole Star by Stef Penney
she recognizes the shadows
i still remember all the things i’d like to forget
and often forget all the things i need to remember
this book: The Country Diary of an Edwardian Lady by Edith Holden
jameson in a small glass
spring flowers on the counter
snow storms in the afternoon
this song: Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me (R&B version sung by Gladys Knight & the Pips)
mallards at the marsh
coffee with friends