fragility—this faint blueness that rivers up the wrists

vulnerable & powerful, the same

that tenderness, that quaint, that faint of pulse & flutters that find themselves

exposed, throbbing

what is the rate, the force, the variation?

what is your exquisite triviality?

—the forest thick, the wilderness screaming I wander this sweet portage ever so quietly

New Age Retrograde 

Promoting my daughter’s little beginner business: New Age Retrograde—Jewelry featuring unique vintage & antique book illustrations. 

Many of these are sold already but you can track down her wares at New Age Retrograde on both IG & FB. 

Go check out her stuff. If you like something claim it quick. 

Custom orders taken & she will hunt for the images you’re looking for. For added “charm” each piece also has a well thought out embellishment hand made in house to compliment each image. 

Every image is hand cut from a vintage or antique book.

Travel Journal Jewelry

Sarah is still off work from her surgery so now that the school year is done this seems to be what she’s focusing on. She’s collecting older antique & vintage dictionaries & turning the images into pendants and adding her own homemade embellishments. I think they look really good. Hoping to build an inventory for Etsy or to rent a table at a local Farmer’s Market. 

Entrepreneurials, that’s what I’m calling the post Millenials. They have been raised by genX & yet have the internet at the fingertips to gain skills & to market themselves & their skills. Love it. 

Hymn to Intellectual Beauty

7. The day becomes more solemn and serene

When noon is past: there is a harmony

In autumn, and a lustre in its sky,

Which through the summer is not heard nor seen. 

As if it could not be, as if it had not been. 

Thus let thy power, which like the truth

Of Nature on my passive youth

Descended, to my onward life supply

Its calm,—to one who worships thee, 

And every form containing thee,

Whom, Spirit fair, the spells did bind

To fear himself, and love all humankind. 

(verse 7 of Percy Bysshe Shelley’s Hymn to Intellectual Beauty)

We gaze these years when young

With some angled eye, tipping. 

But see, this exquisite loveliness;

Our spring was a turmoil and summer

A hard sweat heap of exhaustion & strange open torn agonies—
And then comes the Autumn. 

We lie down, where once we ran, 

And the sky opens up above us. 
I will stay here, breathing in, ever so quietly, waiting—

Watching these winds, watching the young

As they run

Waiting—for that is what autumn is

The realization of inevitabilites & a soft, shaky breath in, loving all

This tranquil fired beauty

Before you go.