through the noise to the sea

homemade herbal salves

Sat, 18 May 2013 17:25:08 +1000

homemade herbal salves

Photo

Sat, 18 May 2013 16:56:50 +1000

Handmade Houses: A Guide to the Woodbutcher’s Art by my vintage...

Sat, 18 May 2013 16:53:00 +1000

Handmade Houses: A Guide to the Woodbutcher’s Art by my vintage book collection (in blog form) on Flickr.

Photo

Sat, 18 May 2013 16:51:53 +1000

Photo

Sat, 18 May 2013 16:38:51 +1000

Photo

Sat, 18 May 2013 16:35:34 +1000

"On silver light lay silver rain."

Wed, 15 May 2013 19:53:29 +1000

“On silver light
lay silver rain.”

- Robert Gray, from “Echoes” (via the-final-sentence)

untitled by ludwigwest on Flickr.

Wed, 15 May 2013 19:48:00 +1000

untitled by ludwigwest on Flickr.

"The light beats upon me. I am startled - a split leaf crackles on the paved floor - I am anguished -..."

Wed, 15 May 2013 19:31:44 +1000

“

The light beats upon me.
I am startled -
a split leaf crackles on the paved
floor -
I am anguished - defeated.

A slight wind shakes the seed-pods -
my thoughts are spent
as the black seeds.
My thoughts tear me,
I dread their fever.
I am scattered in its whirl.
I am scattered like
the hot shrivelled seeds.

The shrivelled seeds
are spilt on the path -
the grass bends with dust,
the grape slips
under its cracked leaf:
yet far beyond the spent seed-pods,
and the blackened stalks of mint,
the poplar is bright on the hill,
the poplar spreads out,
deep-rooted among trees.

O poplar, you are great
among the hill-stones,
while I perish on the path
among the crevices of the rocks.

”

- H.D, Mid-Day, from Sea Garden

ambedo n. a kind of melacholic trance in which you become completely absorbed in vivid sensory...

Tue, 14 May 2013 16:35:45 +1000

ambedo n. a kind of melacholic trance in which you become completely absorbed in vivid sensory details—raindrops skittering down a window, tall trees leaning in the wind, clouds of cream swirling in your coffee—which leads to a dawning awareness of the haunting fragility of life.

banjosandbogs: At the river. #roots #river #tree #water...

Tue, 14 May 2013 16:33:53 +1000

banjosandbogs:

At the river. #roots #river #tree #water #spring

top of my covet list… if only they shipped to australia...

Mon, 13 May 2013 23:12:59 +1000

top of my covet list… if only they shipped to australia :(

The Folklore of Plants: Thiselton Dyer

Mon, 13 May 2013 17:08:34 +1000

The Folklore of Plants: Thiselton Dyer

untitled by alison scarpulla on Flickr.

Mon, 13 May 2013 17:05:00 +1000

untitled by alison scarpulla on Flickr.

Milton

Sat, 11 May 2013 16:10:51 +1000

Milton

Photo

Sat, 11 May 2013 15:38:29 +1000

"When a woman withdraws to give birth the sun may be shining but the shutters of her room are closed..."

Sat, 11 May 2013 12:31:00 +1000

“When a woman withdraws to give birth the sun may be shining but the shutters of her room are closed so she can make her own weather. She is kept in the dark so she can dream. Her dreams drift her far away, from terra firma to a marshy tract of land, to a landing stage, to a river where a mist closes over the further bank, and earth and sky are inseparate; there she must embark towards life and death, a muffled figure in the stern directing the oars. In this vessel prayers are said that men never hear. Bargains are struck between a woman and her God. The river is tidal, and between one feather-stroke and the next, her tide may turn.”

-
Hilary Mantel, from Wolf Hall (2009)

untitled by Maria Louceiro on Flickr.

Sat, 11 May 2013 12:23:00 +1000

untitled by Maria Louceiro on Flickr.

Sat, 11 May 2013 12:22:00 +1000

untitled by Maria Louceiro on Flickr.

"But how glorious it is, this fragrance (of heather). At no other time, it seems to me, does the..."

Sat, 11 May 2013 12:20:31 +1000

“But how glorious it is, this fragrance (of heather). At no other time, it seems to me, does the earth let itself be inhaled in one smell, the ripe earth; in a smell that is in no way inferior to the smell of the sea, bitter where it borders on taste, and more than honeysweet where you feel it is close to touching the first sounds. Containing depth within itself, darkness, something of the grave almost, and yet again wind; tar and turpentine and Ceylon tea.”

-

Rainer Maria Rilke, from ‘Letters on Cezanne’.

(via caveofhypnos)