camp follower

an art, a fortunate accident, a camp in the desert

"..Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossoms had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two."
[via theue]

how grateful i am for the vision of s!

+ image found via the magnificent enthusiasm of hh, here


illuminating | 50 watts

this via completely magnificent 50 Watts here

to a friend

to share your art and your words the way you do!
i cannot thank you enough. please know how much
it meant. to go beyond being a patron of the arts,
to be a patron of hearts- reminding not to follow
the herd, to be true to what we know. to take the
time that you do for others, when others might
not. the art of caring for your fellow man: the
art of life itself. this is what you shared. it was
greatly and graciously appreciated. they heard.

with true thanks.

photo: peter beard


"I'm wearing the same dress. Branding."

i had to post this. when she said 'branding' (braaanding) and laughed, well...i paused it
for a minute and thought i'd share. anyone who can put that much into one little word
(branding. yep.) i can probably listen to for a bit. besides. the visuals, the juxtaposition,
the whole idea of what's going on here. and the dresses. yes. those two dresses...

via jenna

nurse's song

When the voices of children are heard on the green,
And laughing is heard on the hill,
My heart is at rest within my breast,
And everything else is still.

‘Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down,
And the dews of night arise;
Come, come leave off play, and let us away
Till the morning appears in the skies.’

‘No, no, let us play, for it is yet day,
And we cannot go to sleep;
Besides, in the sky the little birds fly,
And the hills are all cover'd with sheep.’

‘Well, well, go and play till the light fades away,
And then go home to bed.’
The little ones leapèd, and shoutèd, and laugh'd
And all the hills echoèd.
-wm. blake 1798



the reflection of the fire is sublime;
so, too, the simplicity of the kitchen

and the light! (those famous windows)