I thought trees would speak a language so foreign we might only feel it. But I understand now that we are a forest ourselves, inside of ourselves, and we can understand the language of the wild - so long as we are willing to listen.
Later, I sat on the brow of a hill and watched the valley beneath me fill with a thunderstorm. It stirred trees and shed rainbows, but I remained untouched where I was. Afterwards, the sky turned deep gold, as if it was burned by the storm's passion.
Such a beautiful, fierce love language.
I read Patricia McKillip's Wonders of the Invisible World today (for the second time). The stories are not her usual fare - they are mostly darker, with a chill to them, which I of course love.
Such a kind boy, obviously beautifully raised.
Sheds and stars.
I loved this post about blogging and art and privacy and more by Melissa Wiley.
The comments on posts at Terri Windling's weblog are so often poetic and beautiful, they inspired me to write this tweet : With some people its like they weren't given diamonds in their voice, or toads, but wildflowers and magical herbs. My own readers leave beautiful, thoughtful comments too and I am so grateful for, and often so sincerely touched by, them all.
Write your name in Elvish. This reminds me of a gift my brother gave me when I was much younger. It was a leather map case, full of maps drawn on aged, stained paper. He had created the cylindrical case, burning elvish characters into it, then hand-drawn each map and treated the paper. Am I not the luckiest sister in the world, to have a brother like that?
I am currently reading Feral by George Monbiot. Here is an article of his about how our rampant consumption is trashing our world.
(Joining with Friday Finds)