“The days aren’t discarded or collected, they are bees that burned with sweetness or maddened the sting: the struggle continues, the journeys go and come between honey and pain. No, the net of years doesn’t unweave: there is no net. They don’t fall drop by drop from a river: there is no river. Sleep doesn’t divide life into halves, or action, or silence, or honor: life is like a stone, a single motion, a lonesome bonfire reflected on the leaves, an arrow, only one, slow or swift, a metal that climbs or descends burning in your bones.” ― Pablo Neruda, Still Another Day







had a beautiful visit with my father last month. in his peaceful world. we drank homemade honeymead and sat in the field all day in the sun 
while i read cormac mccarthy and he did the cryptic crossword.  we went eel hunting and ate thai sticky rice for tea every night.
 he lit a fire in the copper for a bath just like when i was a kid...but i accidentally pushed the chimney right off it before i got to have mine!



...just before i broke it!






3 comments:

Cendrine Rovini said...

Such a beautiful gifted blessed man... And such a magnificent daughter he have... xx

shannonmaree said...

This is absolutely beautiful - thank you so much for sharing.

Sydney said...

u seem lovely and have a beautiful family and life im both happy and jealous xx

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