Letting the Light in

Jenny. 28. Life is getting better all the time.


bonfires-n-hares:

“Autumn approaches and the heart begins to dream …”

— Bashō, from The Sound of Water: Haiku by Bashō, Buson, Issa, and Other Poets
3 days ago  |  1,063 notes

havingapoemwithyou:

And Now It’s September, BY BARBARA CROOKER and the garden diminishes: cucumber leaves rumpled and rusty, zucchini felled by borers, tomatoes sparse on the vines. But out in the perennial beds, there’s one last blast of color: ignitions of goldenrod, flamboyant asters, spiraling mums, all those flashy spikes waving in the wind, conducting summer’s final notes. The ornamental grasses have gone to seed, haloed in the last light. Nights grow chilly, but the days are still warm; I wear the sun like a shawl on my neck and arms. Hundreds of blackbirds ribbon in, settle in the trees, so many black leaves, then, just as suddenly, they’re gone. This is autumn’s great Departure Gate, and everyone, boarding passes in hand, waits patiently in a long, long line.ALT

and now it’s september, by Barbara Crooker
3 days ago  |  864 notes

kosmogrl:

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https://twitter.com/isabelunraveled
3 days ago  |  28,621 notes

peachyyykat:

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kaveh akbar, ‘calling a wolf a wolf’ // doc luben, 'love letters or suicide notes’ // @/nutnoce, tumblr // 'my body’s made of crushed little stars’, mitski // @/ojibwa, tumblr // 'spring’, mary oliver
3 days ago  |  4,849 notes

flowerytale:

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May Sarton, from Recovering: A Journal
3 days ago  |  1,774 notes

weltenwellen:

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jessczapalskipoetry
3 days ago  |  25,833 notes

metamorphesque:

text id: [ The summer ended. Day by day, and taking its time, the summer ended.]ALT

― James Baldwin, Just Above My Head
3 days ago  |  8,134 notes

metamorphesque:

text id: [But how could you live and have no story to tell?]ALT

― Fyodor Dostoevsky, White Nights
3 days ago  |  7,508 notes

metamorphesque:

text id: [Five times a day, I make tea. I do this because I like the warmth in my hands, like the feeling of self-directed kindness. I’m not used to it— warmth and kindness, both—so I create my own when I can. ]ALT

Leila Chatti, “Tea”
3 days ago  |  23,361 notes

flowerytale:

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Ada Limón, from “Sometimes I Think My Body Leaves a Shape in the Air”, The Carrying: Poems
3 days ago  |  11,043 notes