a life incredible, vivid, excellent.
I love spring anywhere, but if I could choose I would always greet it in a garden. — Ruth Stout It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade. — Charles Dickens In the…
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Fear no more the heat o’ the sun, Nor the furious winter’s rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages: Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o’ the great; Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke; Care no more to…
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There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;
There with fantastic garlands did she come
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples
after completing messes of men, the first part of my photography project inspired by mewithoutYou’s brother, sister, cranking the second part out was surprisingly easy. as part of this shoot i learned about betta fish and discovered just how many things cockle burrs can latch onto. [and how cold 40-degree weather can be — thanks…
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i’ve talked before about my love for mewithoutYou’s album brother, sister, and my desire to “illustrate” it, so to speak, through photography and other media. a desire four or five years in the making finally got off the ground last march when i did two shoots based on “messes of men,” the first song on…
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the following photos illustrate the story of ingrid … but what precisely that story is remains for you to discover. innocence abroad and the gogglette bring you … the spy who stayed out in the cold.
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“we’re all carnies, though some people are in denial. they want to be above it all, above the mayhem of laughter and people and lights and animals and the dark sadness that lurks in the corners and beneath the rides and in the trailers after hours. so they ride the ferris wheel, and at the…
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Joy is not naivete. To be innocent is not to be ignorant. To rejoice in hope is to be a light in the darkness.
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What if you could step out of your normal everyday life for a hour or two and into the midst of an adventure particular to you?
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A good cake is a joyous thing.
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Let go. This is not about you. Let go. Who do you think you are? Let go. Trust Me. Let go. Love — and do you know what that means? Let go. Trust Me. Let go.
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O Thou, God, Maker of Heaven and Earth Who was before Earth, or Heaven, or Time began, Who knows the beginning and the end of lightning and the way of the thunder’s rumble — Who splashes in the depths of the sea as if in a puddle — Who sees the substance of the invisible…
Read Morei am arguing with myself the worth of my writing. one part of me says yes! this poem is good and true and genuine and beautiful. it is heartfelt, artful, artless. the other is not so sympathetic but feels more honest. this poem is not bad, but it is about you. where is the eternal,…
Read Moreunless a seed will fall to the ground and die no tomb can be a womb
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“To my mind, the greatest reward and luxury of travel is to be able to experience everyday things as if for the first time, to be in a position in which almost nothing is so familiar it is taken for granted.” – Bill Bryson 1999: We’re on the brink of a new decade, a new…
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It’s 5:43 p.m. central standard time on New Year’s Eve as I begin typing this. How was your year?
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the sun beats harshly on crenulated battlements
as a string of horsemen and camels approaches the gate.
the stony hills are shrouded in darkness, the shapes of shrub
and sheep and shepherd almost indistinguishable in the gloom.
a scrubby hillside, a tiny house, and a weary traveler
picking her way up the dusty path to the threshhold.
