"To the one with her head out the window, drinking the rain." George Starbuck, from a dedication poem to Anne Sexton inscribed in his book titled Bone Thought
This is what makes natural ink so alluring to me - the invitation to play and to stay. The invitation to allow colours their own journey. I remember camping out in a small cabin on the red shores of PEI looking out at the colours created by the earth turning again.
I manifested Roberto Bolano earlier. It may have been two hours like that and I didn’t realize it. Making me ok with the cold rain on a long weekend of a year of everyday felt like a long weekend (with some insurmountable weight that I’m finally able to move around.) I used the soil from the side garden to plant nearly invisible seeds of grey poppies. It may be too late, but I’m trying, no matter what.
This is what makes natural ink so alluring to me - the invitation to play and to stay. The invitation to allow colours their own journey. I remember camping out in a small cabin on the red shores of PEI looking out at the colours created by the earth turning again.
I manifested Roberto Bolano earlier. It may have been two hours like that and I didn’t realize it. Making me ok with the cold rain on a long weekend of a year of everyday felt like a long weekend (with some insurmountable weight that I’m finally able to move around.) I used the soil from the side garden to plant nearly invisible seeds of grey poppies. It may be too late, but I’m trying, no matter what.