How early in the year it begins to be late! It matters not by how little we have fallen behind: it seems irretrievably late. The year is full of warnings of its shortness, as is life.
from The Journal 1837–1861 by Henry David Thoreau
Excerpt
Tag Archives: writing
Ferocity
she was a wild and tangled mass of ferocity
Lately
insects that look like green leaves
dreams that hang about like languid strings
soap that smell like sweet roses
laughter that soars like paper airplanes
an early morning
white satin moths fly through early morning fog
as i sit on the side porch in the hushed silence,
with my coffee and thoreau
Not her
he did not choose her
Away
she turned away
Fly
fly away my friend
Lately
strawberries every day
outside dinners and glasses of wine
summer rain, again and again
long evening walks, admiring lush gardens
the sweetest little ice cream truck
Night
the impending night kisses everything in a violent rush
Found
sometimes it’s not so much what is lost,
as what can be found
spanishwoods 