“If I were to live my life in catfish forms in scaffolds of skin and whiskers at the bottom of a pond and you were to come by one evening when the moon was shining down into my dark home and stand there at the edge of my affection and think, “It's beautiful here by this pond. I wish somebody loved me,” I'd love you and be your catfish friend and drive such lonely thoughts from your mind and suddenly you would be at peace, and ask yourself, “I wonder if there are any catfish in this pond? It seems like a perfect place for them.” ― Richard Brautigan, The Pill Versus the Springhill Mine Disaster

 nude swimming, floating, under the blinking sun, is one of the most truly beautiful joys in life. silk and skin.

this place took my breath away. deafening sound of cicadas. the river beside me while i slept.

“My Name “I guess you are kind of curious as to who I am, but I am one of those who do not have a regular name. My name depends on you. Just call me whatever is in your mind. If you are thinking about something that happened a long time ago: Somebody asked you a question and you did not know the answer. That is my name. Perhaps it was raining very hard. That is my name. Or somebody wanted you to do something. You did it. Then they told you what you did was wrong—“Sorry for the mistake,”—and you had to do something else. That is my name. Perhaps it was a game you played when you were a child or something that came idly into your mind when you were old and sitting in a chair near the window. That is my name. Or you walked someplace. There were flowers all around. That is my name. Perhaps you stared into a river. There as something near you who loved you. They were about to touch you. You could feel this before it happened. Then it happened. That is my name.” ― Richard Brautigan, In Watermelon Sugar

christmas day. sticky and hot in the grass.  reading and sleeping in kakanui heaven house.

“all of us have a place in history. mine is clouds.” ― Richard Brautigan

some photos without a home x

Oh boldest path, penetrating into all places, in the heights, on earth, and in every abyss, you bring and bind all together From you clouds flow, air flies, Rocks have their humours, Rivers spring forth from the waters And earth wears her green vigour. - Saint Hildegard of Bingen

thanks to the wonderful Michaela Meadow i have fallen in love with a word - Viriditas.

...even saying it is delicious! here is her summary of it's meaning...

"‘Viriditas’ is a latin word conjured by the 10th century abbess Hildegard von Bingen.  It symbolises verdant blooming and the vital pulse, the soul essence of all things. It is the holy greening power, the driving force of the cosmos and the higher soul self. It is feminine energy: giving life, birthing."

Hildegard was an extraordinary person. visionary, mystic, writer, composer, philosopher, botanist, healer, poet....linguist!

it made me so happy that she had given a word to a concept that resonates so deeply within me.

...izzie looks like a sort of snowpetal fallen to the earth. sleeping sweetly in the pines. x

These hearts were woven of human joys and cares, Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth. The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs, And sunset, and the colours of the earth. These had seen movements, and heard music; known Slumber and waking; loved; gone proudly friended; Felt the quick stir of wonder; sat alone; Touched flowers and furs and cheeks. All this is ended. There are waters blown by changing winds to laughter And lit by the rich skies, all day. And after, Frost, with a gesture, stays the waves that dance And wandering loveliness. He leaves a white Unbroken glory, a gathered radiance, A width, a shining peace, under the night. - Rupert Brooke (1914)

first photos with my new dear friend izzie austin.
...i've been thinking recently about war brides. about love that bled out on battlefield. and after lived in drawers, 
tucked away in secret places. worn letters. photos of handsome heroes. the ghosts of our grandmothers.

Lions are growing like yellow roses on the wind and we turn gracefully in the medieval garden of their roaring blossoms. Oh, I want to turn. Oh, I am turning. Oh, I have turned. Thank you. - Richard Brautigan

Chosen by beauty to be a handmaiden of the stars, she passes like a silver brush across the lens of a telescope. She brushes the stars, the galaxies and the light-years into the order that we know them. - Richard Brautigan

AH eastbourne! and OH my beautiful friend!

plum tree talks,  mea's morning yoga class, swimming in the bright blue sea (my first swim after off the season!)

hot feet walks, big skies, pasta and wine on the beach...and photos in the balmy evening air, in mea's mama's old yellow sundress. a perfect day.