All morning it has been raining. In the language of the garden, this is happiness.
- Mary Oliver
This fountain pen was brought to me from the Vincent Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam. I actually use it. There is an enchantment in the scratching, in the slow dip for language in old ink; I love to see how words shape themselves naturally on the page, some swelling with gentleness, others barely visible but just as powerful nonetheless. It could be a metaphor, but I only mean it to be a few words about words.
Make what you will of my words, and of the world.
| the labels for this post are love, writing, poetic, rain. when you write what you love, you tend to write your truth. |