Anyone else think patina – be it patina of bronze or patina of face – is the most beautiful thing in the world?
Where do scents take you?
It’s there. In the spaces between the raindrops, in the inky depths of the shadows outside our windows at night.
Isn’t it funny how seemingly random things become connected in our minds?
Some plants are just more romantic than others.
Like a clock, petals tell the passing of time.
I only ever visited her once, on a sunny springtime day. But I remember everything.
Every year she’d bring a basket full of mums in colors good enough to eat.
She wore a gingham apron when she worked, blue and white squares across sturdy cotton fabric worn soft by decades of washing.
Pixies keep what’s theirs.