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So the spiders had taken up their abode in the forgotten trees and spun their silken traps unheeded. The birds were less often seen in those sullen places, for fear that they might be caught within the tangled branches of the trees or the clinging ropes of the ancient spiders.
Title and Description by: Me.
Title by: Me.
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Hatcher Pass Alaska.
One of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. We went blueberry picking up there with our Grandparents who came up to visit us (all the way from Arizona, weather change, craziness). We were standing in a cloud, but, the blueberries were a lot bigger than we've ever seen them and we brought a whole ziplock bag of them back with us. So it was all with it. Besides... being in that weather is just really awesome (in my mind).
The spring is late, but not too late for hope,
Though in this life in darkness we must grope,
A light may wait beyond the shallow now,
In futures springs laden with leafy bows.
--
Description by: Me.
You’re a tiny little heart, with a tiny little part, in a word that’s so much bigger than you.
You expand like a balloon, you are full but pretty soon, the world won’t look so great or even new.
You’re a tiny little heart, at a tiny little start, where everything still looks so fresh in bloom.
But if you’re a red balloon, you’ll be popping pretty soon, when your heart doesn’t have anymore room.
--
Title and Description by: Me.
slipping between grief and nightfall
a soft black and white
crying hours go on and on
but we can’t,
not under these same skies
not forever
you taught us to let go,
and yet and yet
we sang, we danced, we grinned and laughed.
you brought sweet tears to my eyes,
and still
I’ll never see you again.
It’s a funny life
it’s
a desperate life
a sad grey-blue life
but of course
a good life,
like you said.
I saw Heaven for a moment as I looked upon the sky. It was soft and butter creamy and on the earth the rays did lie. There were pinnacles and towers edged with flames of amber gold. In my eye was the reflection of the greatest thing I would ever behold.
I’d fly away. I’d take my spirit from the flesh and leave today. If I only had a choice I’d go to Heaven and in Heaven I would stay.
Then to my great sorrow all the flames had turned to white. The sky soon cooled it’s color while preparing for the night. For a moment there I paused while my ecstasy unwound. And my soul yearned for release I wish my body were dead and in the ground.
I’d fly away. I’d take my spirit from the flesh and leave today. If I only had a choice I’d go to Heaven and in Heaven I would stay.
--
Title and Description by: Me.
Title by: Me.
This is not my usual bridge. This is the bridge that I always wanted to stop at, but we never did, until now (Same day I took pictures of the mountain and the river). My Dad was awesome enough to stop here and I know that when Spring rolls around again, my sister and I (and hopefully Molly ;D) are going to have to come here and take pictures. There's even a tunnel under the bridge that's in use... which is just too sweet!
No Group Invites Please.
I’m cold so wrap your arms around me. And lie beneath this beech tree. For this Autumn’s falling swift and chill. I’m caught here against my will. Don’t let me go I’m fading slowly. Time creeps I’m feeling lonely. I’m lost in sadness I'm old and drawn. Won't be long before I’m gone.
Title and Description by: Me.
Love does not bind us, but sets us free,
For what but love can give so easily?
None for the lover who gives his gain,
So he walks freely without any chain.
--
Poem by: Me.
The morning has kissed the land with dew. Each plant in radiant glory grew. Upon the lips of daffodils. The brilliant rays of sunlight spills. A wondrous red did tint the rose. The pansies cheeks do curve and glow. The roots of trees now dig and pry. While sparrows swim the water blue sky.
--
Title and Description by: Me.
They say there are things you are not suppose to feel.They say there are certain things you are not allowed to feel hurt by.You have to crawl back into your bubble & just accept it....Well listen; If I'm hurt I will tell,I will write & I will feel each damn thing deep in my bones.I will color my bruises even darker just to face them & really see what they look like.I'm not a coward hiding in a corner somewhere licking my wounds.There is no time for that.Sorry does not fix a goddamn thing.Sorry is not even a word,it is a feeling & I have enough of those.The fact is I was hurt & it is not up to you or anyone else to tell me I was not.
Summer spilled its sweetest sunshine, now its all but gone.
Autumn falls crisp and yet fine, frost is on the lawn.
Winter looms a darkling menace, thus begins the night.
But after Winter Spring will bless, our dark world with light.
--
Title and Description by: Me.
I have always been the tomboyish girl in the family.I have never had big breasts or hips...I have never been afraid of taking heavy lifts or other masculine things.I have always been an athlete since a very young age.Always on the move,a bit agressive & straight forward.I've really done good in jobs & work hard....however, I am a woman.I am a single mom to a beautiful boy,I love long romantic dresses & I love a man in a suit.I love romantic dinners & cuddling & roses.I love all that.My problem is I do not like to be weak or seem weak.I can open my own doors,thank you very much & pull out my own chair & pay my own bills.If I love you or want you or like you,I let you know because I do not have the time to fool around with silly games.Often I loose in love because of this.I guess I might look at love from a mans point of view & that's not acceptable for a woman.I see my problem,if it is a problem.I come on too strong but that is as honest as anything I can be.I will not change.That is me!The Amazon!!!Love me or leave me.You might do both....
Watching photographs and turning mementos in cold hands, I stare with full brown eyes. I curl my lonely fingers around the image of your face, as if by imagining the softness of your cheek in my palm vividly enough I can make you remember me.
The harbor.
It glows. It groans for us. It reaches out silken hands and tries to pull us back to where we once roamed, fingers entwined and hearts thumping through our shirts. Where I sat on the beach, sand curled between my toes, watching you stand at the base of the lake and let the ends of waves lace your legs. Where we trekked to the lighthouse, racing to meet where the sky and water met at the horizon and never arriving fast enough to see them separate. We spent early morning hours sitting on the concrete with a blanket and my telescope, staring at the stars and connecting them in abstract patterns we drew on our own cosmic canvas.
Light slips away.
A part of me fades into the clouds, as if this place and my dreams need to paint our story in the reflection of what used to be, every detail bobbing helplessly in the hazy churn of this last tide.
I miss them. Memories of you and the way you slipped your arm around my shoulders when I wasn't aware you had crept so close. The scent of you hits me hardest when I push open my windows during a storm and rain races in, tapping rhythms on my table. I hear the lyrics you'd sing to me as we held our hopes of what we'd become on strings we sailed into wondering winds.
I’m not doing,
not doing well and not doing much,
I’m blank-faced,
thimble-fingered
chrysanthemum-weary.
it isn’t raining it’s snowing actually quite pretty and I think that if I could
dance lily-lilting onto a river and away
I might
might’nt I?
“you must really love white crayons,”
they said.
and I do.
“but why?”
but why not?
“and old candles, and torn magazine pages, and brick red hymnals missing whole halves, and certain silent stains”
more. you couldn’t scratch the surface.
we’d skip violet up the hills, we’d
creep down upon the voices of scaly sycamores that gave us their all
we’d take fire red poison berries in our hands, juniper pebbles, forsythia,
and
we’d take the world for granted.
I take it, this
my sunday fate
"What would you do for love of Me?" The Savior asked the withered tree. "I've grown so old, I'm almost done." Replied the tree in shivery tone. "I've lived a life now long and weary. My bark has now grown hard and dreary. But for You I'd shed my last leaf. Though time on earth is growing brief. I'd shake until my branches fell. Or burn in fires worse then Hell.I’d bear the crosses the world brings. To please the Lord I’d do these things."
Title and Description by: Me.
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Slightly similar to the last couple of photos that I posted. But I can't get enough of these shots. I love really creepy spidery shots of tree branches. I think they're beautiful!
In the dark trees the raven roosts, his head held high his tongue unloosed. He crows and crows a taunting song, you've lost your way and all is wrong. It's left or right that you must choose, if chosen wrong your life you'll lose. The crow he laughs and flies away, the path you choose is right you pray.
Title and Description by: Me.
"Did love visit you last night?"The voice asked. "I do not know"I said."I saw & felt everything in black & white...but there was a vague shade of pink....& I believe that was love?"
Title by: Me.
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High ISO, so it's grainy, but I really like the grainy effect. I took this picture during a phone call break while my family and I were watching "The Return of the King." We had so many interruptions. The new(ish) dog was giving us problems, we had to bring the groceries in, we had to help make dinner, we had to eat dinner... yeah... but all of that doesn't change the fact that it's a good movie.
Title by: Me.
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Wow! Almost exactly a years difference between the two photos (only five days off) of the same tree (different angles) but the difference is drastic!
{this was a little poetic rambling that spilled from my fingers after seeing a woefully misspelled piece of typography posted on tumblr}
There are things in each person’s life that take their whole life story and rip it to shreds, that have the power to rewrite everything about us and threaten to ruin all we’ve made ourselves into. If we can find a way to take those things and make them not the pen but the ink colour, not the writer but the setting, not the ending but the climax of our life’s novel, we can find the strength to de-story those unhappy scenes of our story. We can write ourselves in however we choose.
Opened my heart to the water, let it run over like lace.
Splashing and running about me, washing the tears from my face.
Swiftly it changes its colors, grey’s turning blue and now green.
Black will soon break into whiteness, always the river runs clean.
--
Title and Description by: Me.
if I cover my face
will the world
melt away behind my hands?
when it’s snowing
in Venice
{in March, no less…!}
maybe the frost will speak
warm-wet and soft
of you,
who are and were so lost
I don’t count the days,
not anymore
but my scars do
I don’t carry blades
anymore
but sometimes I long to.and when the truth
isn’t pretty or neat, when it’s remainders and excesses
—when it’s collecting
like rubbled up years on a cornflower blue lace agate—
that’s when I love it.
if only we
could almost be the stellar, trickling dew-drop wings
of which we were told
in days lavender and felt-lined and gold
andgold.
she sees a window through a window through a window through a window’s windowedeye
she leaks
and lilac nectar and reddish-blue water and juniper springs and berries
trail as she walks softly by
fragile, they tell you;
“handle with care”
breakable, they tell you;
“handle
with fear”
One day I found a bird’s nest, it was nestled in a tree.
I climbed up in the branches, to see what I could see.
Inside the woven circle, there were crowded one two three.
Loud chirping little birdies, that were screeching at me.
I did not dare to touch them, for I’ve never been allowed.
To handle little creatures, with feathers like a cloud.
But I was glad to watch them, when I did it I felt proud.
To see the little cheepies, boisterous and loud.
I watched them in the day time, ‘till their feathers all had grown.
And even in the evening, I’d listen to their tone.
But then one day I left them, for seven long hours alone.
Then when I went to see them, I found they all had flown.
--
Title and Description by: Me.
it’s so easy too easy to break a crayon to two crayons
the tube tunnel and the light always at the end,
colouring my God
in
white crayons
aren’t useless they’re perfect;
they’re crystal-invisible eyes and jesus hair and cotton clouds and between-verse-singing sighs.
the brown honey-wood boats
and bridges; my very first
rivers and roads
As I walk,
I leave my footprints behind me in the snow
Yet no one will ever know who those footprints belong to
The only ones that may have a chance at recognizing
are the ones who walk by my side,
but they still have the ability to forget, to overlook
What if every achievement I have in life is just another footprint?
My actions may be recognized,
but will my soul?
My being maybe ignored like most of the others.
My footprints may be covered in a layer of fresh snow,
Walked all over,
or just left unseen.
Ignorance.
No matter what, there's always a chance that my efforts are leading me no where,
yet it's always worth trying anyway.
Even with the slightest chance at making a difference,
It's worth knowing if even only for myself,
that I tried to make a change.
I do not know if I can call them cowards.It takes a lot of courage to breake someones heart like that & still live like they did not...breake anything.It takes a lot of courage to face themselves when Karma comes knocking...
Title by: Me.
I love these things! I have no idea what they are, but you can take them apart and put them back together, and they are just really awesome looking.
I will never apologise for what I feel.There is no way I will beg or pleade.I'm done with all that & I'm not sorry.I'm not...
I need myself more than anyone & I know myself better than anyone ever will.Have I learned anything from any of this?
I've learned that you are what you feel & what you feel is who you are.If you supress your feelings or deny them their right to breathe, you are slowly choking yourself & we all know what happens then...
there are
(there are)
a thousand things
I’d rather be doing
but there are
(God knows there are there are)
a couple million things I should be doing, and
of course,
they’re too far from different to be said far at all;
but I can’t do any of it, not now, not today
not lately
not in this December(wrong)
on this dry pale weekday(strong)
so I am sitting here typing instead
in the silence
in the shade
under the bleak sun
weeping(not me,
the sun)