socks made of flowers,

The rivers of rain have finally turned to wind. The forecast promises dry meadows, and winds that blow dandelion dust.  The past week has been built by pillows, head resting, and deep breathings.  I cannot, with certain, say that the week was a happy one. A fleeting frown visited my lips while droplets fell earthward from my eyes. My body yearned for new walls, and adventure. I felt restless, and hungry for a new place of discovery. My eyes had been wandering from the existing beauty that feeds most days. The result, I've been grumpy, like the black bear who witnesses dry rivers.

Some weeks, I skip through mornings, and dance through moon lights. This week was different. The birds whispered, the foot placings were slow, and I chomped heart longings for lunch.   When the lips bend, and the mind wanders, sad belly feelings form. I've always admired suffering. To be fed by sorrow dwellings may sound worse than fire on our tongues, but it is the light at the end of the pout that makes suffering like a seed. When the seedling of the sad belly returns to Summer music, the result is a wiser, wittier, and humbler body. If it weren't for rain, we'd never see the snout of the flower, or the worm in the mud. If it weren't for hunger, we'd never know the taste of the tangerine.

Not all was rainy or budding through the week. In fact, I traveled to Banff, I was brought merriment from a folk song, I soaked my hair in the rain, I listened to haunting piano keys, I wept at a museum exhibit, I wrote poetry about charms and strawberry suckling, I visited the lilac festival, and I watched lovers drink sangria.

If I hadn't known the dreamer's ache, you'd say my week was peaceful.  Truly, weeks are made peaceful by those who place feet in the mud with you. I'm glad I have saints on my shoulders....

Today,  I ate cinnamon rolls, chanted songs on the porch, fell in love with a new color, made giggles with an old friend.  It's Monday, and I'm wild for new footings and a new week.  Maybe, if the tide pleases me, I'll find myself licking strawberry preserves, placing buckets of water into the garden, dancing underneath summer starlight, and kissing the cheeks of those who walk beside me

dandelion dust• birds you trust• as the wisdom wind sings• the garden brings• such merry things

Now for the outfit,

The socks decorated in cherry blossoms, and flower musings remind me of dream land. A place where grasses grow as if soaked by rain, and the sugar from the sun drenches the prairie wood.  These socks were sent to me from ozone socks along with another pair. I was hoping to take pictures of both, but my camera battery fell asleep.  The socks stretch to my knees, and comfortably fit. They dance to Spring hues,  and beg to be worn while sniffing mountain flowers.  If you take a peak at ozone sock's website, you will find eye pleasing patterns, and whimsical colorings. The stockings are reasonably priced, and eccentricity spews from the designs.  It's like wearing an art gallery on your feet.  Next outfit post, I'm hoping to share the whimsy of my other pair. For now, please visit ozone socks and smile greatly.  Thank you Ozone Socks for sending me the decorative stockings that will dress my legs, and bring me eye stares.
  The banana on the counter is calling my taste buds. The day is calling for walks, tangerine juice, and bathing in the sun's temper.                     The rest of the photographs are from my week.... 

 Hugs, and wishes for healthy things. x

My sorrow, when she's here with me, thinks these dark days of autumn rain are beautiful as days can be; she loves the bare, the withered tree; she walks the sodden pasture lane. -Robert Frost

what i wore
dress- boutique $120
wedges rockets dog from winners $50
flower socks- sponsor

into the woodland,

Good morning to my plate of blueberries,
At last, I've visited dreamland, and through the night, I slept.

My favorite place of wool gathering, pipe dreaming, and escaping is beneath the woody forest.
 It is here where I travel when I feel withdrawn. It is here where stillness and harmony mingle. The only sounds are those of the wild birds.  Beside the plants, my heart attaches to my feet, and all of day's aches are swallowed by the forest.   One hour in the forest brings more merriment than 3 days below city lights. I cannot tell whether the may tree will bear or not, but I can tell you it's worth more than firewood.

When I dream of landscapes, and dwellings for my future home. I do not fancy a home built by prairie winds, and canola fields. Instead, I dream of a place beside the cherry wood, and the wild bird's nestling.  I imagine a belly growing from food, and baby seeds. I think of baby breath on my back while I watch trees bend in the breeze.  I close my eyes sometimes, and pretend I'm locked between a dogwood tree, and a stream. Sometimes, when I'm bathing, I pretend I'm bathing in muddy waters. Sometimes, when I'm snacking on the blueberry, I pretend I've got buckets of them, freshly plucked from earth's garden.  Sometimes, I wish I could grow fur, and grow wild in the forest. It's a shame the indoor world, and the world of faces, can't always be as golden as the woodland. 

"By reading Huckleberry Finn I felt I was able to justify my act of going into the mountain forest at night and sleeping among the trees with a sense of security which I could never find indoors."

The woodland is my church. I do not follow the way of books, or prayer. It's a nice thing if you can find religion, or spirituality through teachings, but for me,  I find god in the way of the woods.  The sound of the stream, the dance of the woodpecker, the shadows casted by branches.  This is the kingdom where animals roam, where wild flowers decorate the sunken moss, where age draws faces into the wild bark. If you hadn't told me heaven comes after my parting, I'd say I've already been there, when I've visited the woodland.

 The sky has been spirited. Like new born love, and the budding on trees are turning into leaves. Baby flowers are breaking through the dirt.  Spring is dressing it's sweater on the meadows, and roof tops, heating our homes and our bellies.   When the weather is warm, I want to retire from paper writings, and spend the hours tinting pale skin. (I don't want to spook anyone into thinking I'm a ghost..)

The babbling brook was crooked, and the traveling water sounded like lullabies. So much beauty, I could have wept in it.....
This hidden forest is 2 minutes away from my bed. You just have to follow the trail, pictured here, and you'll find yourself being fed by the magic woods.  This particular pine land is in a hole beneath the earth. Everywhere above resembles suburbia and city life.

Pictured Here is my Woodpecker friend. He came to compose drum beats in the oak tree,  and make happy brain feelings for me and my best friend. Thank you Carter for spending the light of day in shaded woods.

one must ask children and birds how cherries and strawberries taste.  
hugs and wishes for warm weather, wherever you are. x

what i wore
pink blouse- good will thrift $4
floral skirt- vintage/ value village $5
hat- jessica simpson $20

water where flowers go,

Hello Saturday,
The rain has been playing Motherhood. Feeding fodder with the water droplets, and cloud bursting with kisses for flowers.  When it rains, the banks of dry rivers are fattened, and the shores of heavy waters are spilled. As the sky cries,  earths skin reawakens, and sweet-smelling air strikes our senses. The smells of wet soil, soggy petals, and the fragrances of water cannot be bought.  Too often we blanket ourselves from the Rain.  Shutting windowsills, locking door steps, and hiding beneath umbrellas.   The rain brings memory of my childhood....When puddles and bare feet were married beneath cloud cover.
"The best kind of rain, of course, is a cozy rain. This is the kind the anonymous medieval poet makes me remember, the rain that falls on a day when you'd just as soon stay in bed a little longer, write letters or read a good book by the fire, take early tea with hot scones and jam and look out the streaked window with complacency. ~Susan Allen Tot" 

As I speak of rain weather,   the sun has entered the atmosphere.   The golden rays are drying the dew, and the forecast is whispering Spring music.   I can hear baby birds on my rooftop.   I can see flower heads bending towards the light.       

Today, I'm taking my body to the babbling brook.  Behind my house, there lives a home for me.  A secret woodland filled with pine, and may trees.  There is a dirt hill, and if you crawl into the bottom, you will find crooked creeks,  and deer droppings.  For long, I have dreamed of taking photographs in these woods,  and bringing music to wake the animals.

Thanks for reading sweet people.  My heart is warmed by you.
Hugs and wishes for healthy things, x

what i wore
flower suspenders- wet seal1 $8
floral skirt- bought from winners $15
boots- sponsor

sleeping in toasters,

When the moon lays low in the land, and shadows are casted by the wild wolf, I lay awake, and wish for somnolence. Instead of sleep, and eye shut dreaming,  I sit by my window and witness the coma of night.  There is a magical air to the moon hours.   Our eyes don't need spectacles to watch the moon's glow.  The mysticism of night, the quietude, how every sun mammal is sleeping.  Have you ever witnessed a leaf being blown into the dead quiet street?

When I'm awake through the night, I feel happy. I feel alive. I feel attached to the earth. I feed on the simplicity of air, and  the quietude of dark... With all of this beauty, there is sacrifice to sailing away from sleep.   When the bells ring for the morning, I am tired, and filled by grumpy guts.  I often forget the importance of sleep. We need sleep for good tempers, good word plucking, and liveliness. When I'm not lively, I cannot be true. I cannot burst with yellow beams, pouring warmth on everything I love.  Without sleep, I yawn, and straddle low like the dirt worms.  Searching, always searching, but never finding what I need.

"The bed is a bundle of paradoxes: we go to it with reluctance, yet we quit it with regret; we make up our minds every night to leave it early, but we make up our bodies every morning to keep it late."

I sleep better when my blankets turn to Lava, and I sweat.  A summer slumber brings wraths of happiness. Sleep is magic. From our sleep, we discover better days. I've always envied the cinnamon boy who dreams of islands, and Utopian scopes.   For me,  I dream by day, seldom by night.

Slumber, munching, and kisses are so very important for proper breath. I sometimes forget this. I forget to feed my belly with food, my head with sleep, and my lips with kisses.
"Sleep 'til you're hungry, eat 'til you're sleepy."

 For now, I sleep in toasters, and pop out of bed.

Today, I spent the morning snacking on carrot cake, and watching the glow of light streaming from my new laptop. At last, I found myself a new computer. It's blue, like the sky, and it's fast, like electricity.  Tomorrow, I'll spend the morning writing school exams, and wishing I was on a golden beach drinking wine. After my exam, I'm hoping to celebrate with vintage browsing.

My wallet is always thirsty. My closet is always fed.

  Tonight,  I'll take a break from day, and lay in Summer's wings while plucking away worries. The spirits and songs within me chant blissfulness.    I'm clenching white teeth while playing poetry, and garden growing. Full by dreams of wonder, and merriment.

the bears~ and the budding blueberry bush~ parallel to our love.

the day my grandmother died| I remember the cold of my bed| as she whispered from a casket|" keep your dreaming head"

I met an old man| beside the wheat crest| he said "buckle your body to the one who loves you best”

Thank you always (readers, followers, friends, fans)
Lend me your cheeks so I can smooch them in gratitude

what i wore
flower dress- forever 21 $8
wedges- rocket dog $50
black hat- jessica simpson $20