each one of us should make a surveyor's map of his lost fields and meadows. in this way we cover the universe with drawings we have lived. these drawings may not need be exact. but they need to be written according to the shapes of our inner landscapes.

gaston bachelard

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find beauty; be still.

w h murray

have you ever ventured in a green coricle,
high above domesticity and found insignificance waiting?
where ancient horseshoes crowd a horizon,
damp melancholy put to flight and
silence met by Lily's ripples.
cradled amongst fell crags and burrows,
time does cease to pound; whisper softly
hear a breath expunged, a chamber emptied.
and dusty wings put to flight.

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