Saturday Morning

There is a wind blowing from the east, in from the sea, and it is laden with rain, pattering against the roof. It is as if a wall were standing open: the long, beautiful summer has ended, and everything rushes towards autumn. The leaves drop from the trees, the colours drift from green towards yellow and brown, the air smells of soil.

It feels good.

~ Karl Ove Knausgaard, from “Lime” in “Autumn


Photo: jerianie with foggy autumn mornings

It’s been a long day

hair-red

Beyond ambition,
beyond attainment,
is home.

Contentment,
without content;

peace,
uncaused.

—A.H. Almaas, Ripening of the Soul


Notes:

It’s been a long day

Elif Sanem Karakoç

[…]
But remember that you have to move on,
somehow.
You just pick your head up
and stare at something beautiful
like the sky or the ocean,
and
you move the hell on.

— James Patterson, Suzanne’s Diary for Nicholas.


Notes:

 

Saturday Morning

hair-back-red-hair

The essential meaning of silence is
the giving up of intention.
Silence is not acoustic.
It is a change of mind.
A turning around.

~ John Cage, The Roaring Silence: John Cage: A Life by David Revill


Credits: Photo Source: mennyfox55. Quote: Memory’s Landscape

 

Saturday Morning. Tasting it fully.

nap-sleep-rest-red-hair

Without the interruptions,
nourishing and maddening,
this life would become arid.
Yet I taste it fully only
when I am alone here and
“the house and I resume old conversations.”

~ May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude: The Journals of Mary Sarton


Source: Photograph – exercice de style

 

A Murmur. Yes, Maybe.

big-red-hair-wind

For once
the mocking, predictable voice
inside my head that says “No way”
is silent.
In fact, I think I can just barely make out
some other, quieter voice, whispering,
“Maybe.”

― Katrina Kenison, Magical Journey: An Apprenticeship in Contentment


Photograph: Anka Zhuravleva (“Ginger“)

 

 

What still pulls on your soul?

athena-red-hair-Thomas-Dodd

What in your life is calling you,
when all the noise is silenced,
the meetings adjourned,
the lists laid aside,
and the wild iris blooms by itself
in the dark forest,
what still pulls on your soul?

— Rumi

 


Poem Source: Stalwart Reader; Photograph – Athena by Thomas Dodd. See bio here.

%d bloggers like this: