poetry
If you ever get a chance to listen to David Whytes recording of poetry called "poems of self compassion", do so. Preferably alone in early fall with a glass of red wine and thoughts of the world weighting on your lips.
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Tonight I am going to go home (home! a home!) and listen to the fall lean against the windows, and scribble in my journal in colour, start a crackly fire in the small woodbox and read pulp fiction by candle light. I will sleep early I think, and wake only when Janell returns to bed.
*
Tonight I am going to go home (home! a home!) and listen to the fall lean against the windows, and scribble in my journal in colour, start a crackly fire in the small woodbox and read pulp fiction by candle light. I will sleep early I think, and wake only when Janell returns to bed.