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"I open my eyes, and look out through the open hole in the roof. The swallows wisk back and forth in the light of dawn, tiny black cracks against a bright blue sky. I am alive: no one took my life in the night. I smell my fellows, and the musty smell of straw in this little croft, the sharp stink of the horses outside, hobbled near at hand."
— from the novel Sinful Folk
(Source: se17enteen)
"Spring grew into summer, and the rhythm of my life now included Nell. I learned that her secret thyme and mint beds were deep in the woods, out by the chuckling stream that disappeared underground. She gathered plants she needed every day, and she was as a child who gathers flowers in May."
PHOTO: Bluebell 02 by Matt Oliver photography on Flickr.
(Source: oculi-ds)
"Sound carries far here in the trees. Snow slides off a heavy oak as some creature shuffles through the woods, and ancient branches snap. Out of the corner of one eye, I see the flash of colored feathers. It is a yellowhammer, black eyes flickering in a hedgerow, tiny breast plumped out in golden livery, streaked with colors rich and brown. It was calling in its winter song:
A little bit of bread and no cheese—
A little bit of bread and no cheese—
Moments later, the bracken flutters and the slight shadow of the bird darts into the woods. Deep in the forest now, I hear a low voice that wends back and forth, whispering in secret.”
— from the novel Sinful Folk
(Source: autumnsunset)
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird,
That cannot fly.
Book quote:
"Stars steam away as a pale sun rises, hot coal dropped in a watery sky. Light seeps across the forest as the reedy shrieks of wood fowl echo in the trees. The path from our village to the King’s Highway is no road at all. To the east, that faint track leads up through the forest until it reaches, finally, the open country and paths that lead to other places. Hob is taking us beyond the bounds of the known world.”
PHOTO:
(via Pin by Connie Baten on God…Beautiful Creator! | Pinterest)
Author Reading this weekend at Orca Books in Olympia — 7 pm, Saturday July 12!
Come and join us!
“The sound of a distant ocean covers me with surf, that tide that bears me back into the past, back to the place where I was born. People come through the whiteness, through the bright light, but all of them are ghosts.”
(Source: photogenicsmag)
"The sound of a distant ocean covers me with surf, that tide that bears me back eternally into the past, back to the place where I was born. My mother took me out in our little fishing boat, out on the open water of the sea. The thrum and hiss of surf upon the shore behind us, the breaking rhythm never ceasing. My mother waited until we were out of sight of land…. Now, people come through the whiteness towards me, but all of them are ghosts."
(Source: burninggravity)
