Canto

A LA POURSUITE DES ILLUSIONS, 1962.  Oil on canvas.
Louise Janin

{x} {xx}

Easter. The grave clothes of winter

are still here, but the sepulchre
is empty. A messenger
from the tomb tells us
how a stone has been rolled
from the mind, and a tree lightens
the darkness with its blossom.
There are travellers upon the road
who have heard music blown
from a bare bough, and a child
tells us how the accident
of last year, a machine stranded
beside the way for lack
of petrol, is crowned with flowers.

—“Resurrection,”
R. S. Thomas

{via newsletter}

Here is an incomplete visual description of things that have no shape.

One. Death is a bottomless pool of clear water.

Two. Wind is a question mark.

Three. Morality is a thermos.

Four. Love is an over-full shopping bag with a broken handle.

Five. Fear is a cinderblock tower with a single door and no windows.

—Episode 148 "The Broadcaster",
Welcome to Night Vale

OpenStreetMap Haiku

On the water's surface
Today in Hunterdon County
The day is young

*

Traffic light goes red
Green. Red. Green. Red.
The warm belly of the bus

*

Chasing laughter
The sun strikes
Feeling good in New Jersey

*

Leaves on the windshield
Thoughts of home

*

Mountain Avenue
Quite chilly
High up in the trees

*

Water like glass
A vacant lot
Far away

{x}

Mab

In the darkness defined by her light i see the silhouette of another woman.

Her skin as black as the darkness between stars.

The recent moon is her hairpiece.

She is distant, inscrutable, and cold.

Now dormant.

But only for a time.

Is this how seasons work?

The bright woman looks at me.

Open Sorcery

John Harris.
{x}

created by The-Eternal-Moonshine (@Tumblr)

Woodcut, 1920s/30s.
Walther Klemm

{x} {via}

Vega nightfishes in the Great Sky River. Copyright © 2021

Lingonberry by Anders Noren — Proudly Powered by BluditUp ↑