She felt vaguely upset and unsettled. She was suddenly tired of outworn dreams. And in the garden the petals of the last red rose were scattered by a sudden little wind. Summer was over — it was Autumn.
“She felt vaguely upset and unsettled. She was suddenly tired of outworn dreams. And in the garden the petals of the last red rose were scattered by a sudden little wind. Summer was over — it was Autumn.” L.M. Montgomery
Rainbow Valley is the seventh book in the chronology of the Anne of Green Gables series of novels by Lucy Maud Montgomery. Photos by Enchanted Seashells.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about T-I-M-E. Time flies. I hate to be late; I like to be ON TIME. Does time really exist at all or have we been brainwashed to think iit does?
Too much thinking about time as ephemeral makes me anxious. Too much thinking about anything does the same thing. My non-logical mind has determined that TIME itself isn’t the issue; THINKING about it IS and it makes my brain melt, just like Dali’s clocks.
Salvador Dalí
“Time doesn’t exist, clocks exist. Time is just an agreed upon construct.” — David Foster Wallace
“It takes just one unattended moment for an hour to pass.” ― Sherod Santos,Square Inch Hours: Poems
Santos was born in South Carolina, graduated from San Diego State University, and studied at the University of California, Irvine. I never met him when I attended SDSU, but I knew ABOUT him; all of us who studied creative writing and poetry knew about “Rod” Santos and W.S. Merwin and Glover Davis, who was actually my professor.
David Foster Wallace was an acclaimed American writer known for his fiction, nonfiction, and critical essays that explored the complexities of consciousness, irony, and the human condition. Wallace wrote the novel Infinite Jest.
“The Persistence of Memory” is an iconic 1931 surrealist oil painting by Salvador Dalí, famous for its “melting” clocks draped over a desolate, dream-like landscape inspired by his Catalonian home. The painting uses a paranoiac-critical method to explore the subconscious, with the distorted clocks symbolizing the fluidity and subjectivity of time, influenced by Freudian psychology and potentially Einstein’s theory of relativity. From Google.
Could Leon Russell’s version of As Time Goes By be the best ever? I think so…mature Leon was awesome, too.
In my mind I am always the feral woman wearing a white nightdress with a mud-stained hem and twigs in my hair, running through a forest bathed in moonlight, screeching along with the owls and foxes.
Unknown, curated from She’s Magic & Midnight Lace Image from Pinterest
This was chalked into the sidewalk near my lagoon. It’s been there for a while and so far no one has tampered with it, so I decided to memorialize the words in a photo. I don’t know who wrote it, but I would like to meet them, because it’s sad yet profoundly hopeful at the same time.
I am not afraid to keep on living, I am not afraid to walk this earth (world) alone.
“Here, beneath this tree, she had lain on her back in the sun and watched the butterflies. Part of her would linger there for ever: a footstep running tip-toe to the creek, the touch of her hand on a tree, the imprint of her body in the long grass. And perhaps one day, in after years, someone would wander there and listen to the silence, as she had done, and catch the whisper of the dreams that she had dreamt there, in midsummer, under the hot sun and the white sky.” — Daphne du Maurier, Frenchman’s Creek.
Art by Lucy Campbell
Three of my favorites in one painting: a wolf, a raven, and trees. I’d love to curl up and hibernate in a mighty oak guarded by my beloved animal family — to dream of butterflies and seashells and other simple but profound bearers of joy.
With all the powerful planetary energies at play right now and everything else in this country that almost too horrible to even think about, it seems like a great time to get grounded, to literally get back to what’s simple and healing — and that’s where you’ll find me, in the garden planting seeds of serenity (and flowers).
A garden must combine the poetic and the mysterious with a feeling of serenity and joy. – Luis Barragan
There is no drop of water in the ocean, not even in the deepest parts of the abyss, that does not know and respond to the mysterious forces that create the tide. — Rachel Carson
This particular beach is a favorite for locals to surf and tidepool, so we are always a bit vague as to the specific location to protect it from being overrun by ill-mannered tourists who trash our beaches.
Enchanted Seashells | Princess Rosebud 