because no amount of gifs could do this scene justice
East of me, west of me, full summer. How deeper than elsewhere the dusk is in your own yard. Birds fly back and forth across the lawn ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀looking for home As night drifts up like a little boat. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ -Charles Wright, "After Reading Tu Fu, I Go Outside to the Dwarf Orchard"
First day of school, let me just grab my Jansport...
It isn't like taking an aspirin you know. Grief is a long process. She frowns. What does it accomplish all that raking up the past? Oh- I spread my hands- I prevail! I look her in the eye. She grins. Yes you do. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ -Anne Carson, The Glass Essay
Alright New York I see you.
8.30.16- "Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road, Healthy, free, the world before me, The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose. Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune, Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing, Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms, Strong and content I travel the open road." -Walt Whitman, Song of the Open Road (at Riverside Park (Manhattan))
8.9.16- One year since I've seen the mountains or had proof love could be enough. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ [Stacie Cassarino, as always]
8.4.16 (at The Mammal Gallery)
8.1.16- And you know / it's hard to show back up at all
7.31.16- I will remember this version of me. I will remember loganberry, fishscales, the future, the letter that says: love can sidewind. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ -Stacie Cassarino, Northwest (at The Goat Farm Arts Center)
7.24.16- Remnants of sweetness. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ These won't survive the move, but this conglomeration of dried flowers has served as a lovely visual reminder of different occasions, people, and feelings in the past. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ #sappypackingmoments
7.21.16- "It was a marvelous night. A white moonlight night. I never saw any night quite like it--none more beautiful. For a long while before going to bed I stood at your window looking lake-ward--looking at the white silences--the white night so silent. The hills were not hills--they were something bathed in an untouchable spirit of light--the line produced where this spirit met the sky spirit was of rarest subtle beauty. Really I never saw anything quite so beautiful. I looked & looked & knew I was awake." Alfred Stieglitz in a letter to Georgia O'Keeffe. On the same night she also wrote to him about the moon. September 25, 1923.
at Jekyll Island