we sing to bless the morning

sunday

33 ways to stay creative

(found here)

i have nothing to add to this

To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and to endure the betrayal of false friends. To appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; to know that even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

(found here)

move

One of the most stunningly beautiful videos I have ever seen. (And oh, the things I'd give to go travelling right now.)

how i want to live

A country house in Italy. With stray cats and big windows with shutters and balconies and tiled floors.

(Oh, I've never told you about all those trips to Italy as a little girl. Especially Venice, far too many times. I don't think I'll ever be able to shake off the gold dust.)

Today I'm selling my ukulele in order to buy a new and better one. Last night was a whirl of dreams in which I pressed the familiar (cheap, always out-of-tune) strings and I woke up at four in the morning only to give my trusty old uke one last play, then collapsed back into bed and slept without dreaming. Sentimentality, the things it makes me do.

sunrise

With the breeze blowing in from the window beside me and a neighbour mowing his lawn (nothing smells as good as freshly mown grass), these pictures by the Selby are perfect for today.

(Yesterday marked yet another birthday so off we went, clutching ukuleles and flowers and bottles of wine, slotting our legs through the balcony railings and watching the seagulls at sunset, dancing on slippery floors, conniving in bathrooms and collapsing onto beds to get over our fits of laughter.

Windows opening onto a courtyard with a fountain. Cobble-stoned streets, spontaneous bouts of spoken-word poetry after midnight. The silly blues that strike me sometimes at parties, easier to bear when there are good people around me.

And when I got off the train sometime after three a.m. after what felt like the longest-ever journey home, the birds were singing and the sun had begun to rise. This marks the beginning of summer.)

i'll walk you till your fears are numb

how i want to live

There, I think. Books stacked against the walls, creaky whitewashed floorboards and so much light.

I started writing something a few days back. It's been a few months since I've last worked on something. Now I'm writing fragments and joining them together, bits and pieces involving sunsets and lawns and the quiet of a city by dawn.

how i want to live

In a small wooden house in the woods. With a rickety bookshelf and sunlight through the branches. With a little darkroom and all the tea I can drink. Rain on the roof and lazy days in bed. And pillow forts and nights by the bonfire. Biking to the nearby seashore, because I need need need the sea, the sharp waves breaking brittle against my legs.