moonlight shines sooner,

On our earth, The daylight is covered in shadows. Dusky cotton candy clouds peek through the Oak Trees.
The end of August brings Autumn.  The season, in which, the poet watches the shivering trees, the sluggish sun, and the forested hills of vermilion. 

During the shedding season, our earth is spotted with colorful shapes.  By September, the clouds bring moonlight sooner, We trade our bare feet for wool.   At the top of the hill, you can sight Nature's sympathy. Shapes of leaves, and colorful hues dancing among the fodder....   Autumn plucks the night sky, and places it among our meadows. // Counting leaves, as if they were bursts of star light. \\

My paws are bruised like a peach.
I've been strumming the Banjo, and pressing tender fingers into steel threads.  The secret to banjo: The more you ache, pound, stretch, grind, pluck, feather, pounce. The prettier of sounds you compose.   Pressing the keys to a piano ain't got nothin' on Banjo Plucking.     By the rise of Spring weather, I hope to make a dwelling out of my banjo.  A place to live when the world eats my heart.

Today, there is Apple Juice floating around my belly and Samuel Beam singing like a canary.
 I am going to read Neruda, and count the freckles I've collected. 

Happiness, and Honey pails..
Love Always.

what i wore
summer dress- Value Village $7
daisy vest- Value Village $5
wedges- atseoul.com $50


catching winks and tambourines,

Hello wakeful wanders, and babies sawing wood. 
 The weekend has burrowed itself onto the horizon. Our sun smooches the shrubbery's bark, and the garden's bearing pea pods.   Tonight, I will lick empty glasses of whiskey, and shake my tambourine.

The past week has bloomed with midday sleep ins, and midnight wakefulness.    
During the common months, I'd fall forty winks by Midnight, legs wooing for dormancy, eyes splitting into water drops.  During the Summer, unequaled skies embellish our spines.  The summer months bring whistles, and wide-eyed moon hours.  

During the nights, I stretch past 2:30, bowing to the star light, sweeping to the tastes of cookies and spirited belly laughs.  Humming tunes....

As I go to sleep, I think of every south bound highway. I think of all the breads we've turned into companions,  of all the bees we've poured into honey, of all the softwood we've made into threads, of all the petals we've pressed into palms.  We drift from the morning air until the yellow sequins turn into shadows. 
At the end of the day, we begin again.

I love your support. I love your generosity in comments. I love your golden spirits.
Thank you for reading!

Love, and Rest xx

what i wore
dress- Value Village $6
sweater- Free People from the Bay $100
hat- Value Village $5
wedges- Aldo $45


among the garbage and the flowers,

There are heroes in the seaweed
There are children in the morning
They are leaning out for love
And they will lean that way forever.

Hello creatures of sound, wide-eyed people, home-bound horses, and full-feathered birds.   
There is a River of Milk floating through my Cereal. 
As I watch the red berries of our front-yard plant, My spoon licks the bowl. 
 I am seated with Joy, but the hair on my arm is raised.  
An Ocean of Milk paints the sky line. The forecast calls for Summer desire,
 but the clouds of Abandon whisper wool sweaters.

..August air, won't you break the big sky,  and paint the Suns pearl onto our faces..

The day is Monday.  I am considering the Mountains and the Mole Hills of my mind. 
 Sometimes, its hard to set apart, the mountains and the mole hills.  Some days,  if my socks are mismatched, I come to the valley of surrender, and allow two socks to Ruin my day.   Other days, my Pa could curse a tune, and I wouldn't sketch a worried face. Some days, the weight of the Mole Hill carries the breadth of the Mountain. Some days, the Mountain is mistaken for the Ant hill.
There are days of barren flutes, pipe dreams, fruitless harvests. Days of legless companions, broken toys, and thirsty tongues.  ((As the world goes round))  Just when I thought some gun slinging cowboy would surely shoot me dead,  I begin to see tropical fish, ruby-eyed plants, and a fragrant earth.  The sky becomes my Nursing Mother, while the Mountain Climb becomes a Meadow walk.   If we feed our Mole Hills with the worries of Mount Fuji, then we'll never rest.  

The day is Monday. I am breeding the Pleasantry of the forest.  I have eyes that see The Mountain's charm, and lips that sweat the dahlia's petal,   "Without you, every natural pleasure, of tasting, of intelligence, of being outdoors, becomes a heavy wooden hobble tied to my feet. I untie it and see it's immediately there again. Tonight is a night where love gives me a book to read. I'm a reed flute, there is no cure for this soul but you.." rumi 

Thank you for reading !!
Kisses, and kindness.

pants* the gap $20
blouse* value village/thrift $3
wedges* aldo $45
hat* winners $15


barrels of wine, and pinholes for dancing

"Dancing in all its forms cannot be excluded from the curriculum of all noble education; dancing with the feet, with ideas, with words, and, need I add that one must also be able to dance with the pen?"~Friedrich Nietzsche

"I don't want people who want to dance, I want people who have to dance."  ~George Balanchine

sun beams hit your eye lids, if you are awake, you are alive.
The sweat of the Sun licks my window pane, there are droplets of wonder filling holes in my rib cage. These lips are wet with grape juice, and I feel happier than a flask~brushing drunk.   Everyday, there are so many things to celebrate.  Today, there is a tuned guitar, warmed oats, milk, bare legs, a river calling, and a bucket of blueberries.  I want to slip into nakedness, I want to scribble apple trees. I want to catch my spirits and seal them in a jar.  If only everyone had sealed buckets for our good days, we'd spend less time weeping.

The ponderous sky is making a home for me. 
Beneath the Tree's elbow, Below the Oak petal, Beside the Rabbit's surrender.
Today, I am alive with the drunkenness of love. 

On Tuesday of the passing week, I found my crooked feet in a bookstore.  
When your lost inside of a book sanctuary,  there is always stillness,  and silence.
A stillness to the untouched paper trees. A silence from the gatherers, and book readers.  When, I am colored by the turning of pages, and the quietude of the people,  I am reminded of how silence can be treasure.  If only more places wore silence like jewelry, pausing time to be motionless.     On this day, a sweet and hairy boy took my hand, and placed books of Rumi from the Poetry Tree.   
I am Happy, my heart is being furnished by Sunlight, and I have found wealth in the palm of a flower.

"We gather at night to celebrate
being human. Sometimes we call out low
to the tambourine. Fish drink the sea,
but the sea does not get smaller! We
eat the clouds and evening light. We
are slaves tasting the royal wine." *Rumi

Kisses, hugs, and a light to find your way home.
Enjoy the day. xoxoxoxo

skirt* ZARA $12
blouse* moms closet
shoes* atseoul.com


catching sun sugar,

Hi sweet readers,  I send my apologies.  For weeks, I have strayed from the pages of Flying a Kite. 
The wild astronomical days have called me, and the once vacant holes of my brain have been occupied. Too occupied to spend time here.   I've been lifting my brow with the Sun's sugar, and the May Tree's gratitude. There are black eyed susans to my left, and pansies to my right.  Summer is sketched for the wanderer. 

   Now that August's air strolls through the city side, I have settled back into my home. 
There is freedom drifting through the daffodils.

"The minute I heard my first love story,  I started looking for you, not knowing  how blind that was. Lovers don't finally meet somewhere.  They're in each other all along." 

"When the salmon sky dripped morning hour,
We fed our cheeks with apricot buds,
The fruit gave me belly folds,
but you still saw my bones"

Since I last wrote to you, each passing day has been carved by family wanderings, red berries on tree petals, flushed skin, and fits of laughter.  I am wakeful every August morning. As the sun is awoken by the birds cry,  I dress myself into summer skin, and stretch my crooked feet in the garden.  

When August burrows into the soil of our sands,  we are reminded of passing time.  I can still taste the release of our May blossoms. I can still catch the sights of a melody sung in June. I can still feel the first day of Summer.   ~A time when the air was melting the concrete puddles, the blender was stirring sounds,  and the seeds of our labor were untouched.  Now,  as fire sets to a new season,  The suns sugar decorates the lands later in the day.  Our seeds of Spring are turning into salads, and snacks.  

Soon, the lakes will be dressed in orange leaves. I am not weeping, nor sighing, for Summer's imminent departure.  There is still a mouthful of watermelon seeds, a garden full of photosynthesis, an empty belly waiting for food, and an entire Summer month to enjoy. 


Last week, there was a wedding. My cousin married his lady love.  The matrimonial ceremony took place at my Aunt's home, on a country farm.  This country farm is a place built in the memory of my childhood. Fields of Canola crop decorate the eye space. Scents of perennials welcome our snout while the Cats play hide and seek with the Sun.  It is here where I bonded with building blocks, played piano with my cousins, and learned to ride a bicycle.  
As my cousin took the palm of his new wife, I saw the reflection of kids building houses out of lego. I remembered the day I fell from the banana bike, never certain if I'd ever learn to pedal. I saw the baby faces we all once knew.  Time is treasure, like the golden mermaid at the bottom of the Pacific. Time is passing, like fragile fingers holding grain.  It is haunting, the way Time drifts through the Moon's passing.  A boy once asked me, if you could return memory for time, would you.    My answer was No 

After the wedding ceremony, we soaked drunken bellies, and danced till our feet blistered.

Yesterday, we swallowed Merry saliva in the form of Sushi and Strawberry Bacardi's.
We are living with good feelings, we are bathing in clean waters, we have our eyes, we have our tongues. My heart is so grateful I can taste the salvation of Sushi.  My head is so grateful I can see my mother, and hold the palms of my best friend.  Sip, dance, whine, learn, lick, laugh, get, give, happy.

Thank you for reading !   Love, and rest.
See you soon. When the sun is brighter than the moon.   xo

what i wore
hat- winners $15
white wedges- ALDO $45
mom's white blouse- winners $30
floral dress- vintage $8