We kan daunse yf if plese us We kan leave thy friendes behinde For thy friendes daunse not and yif thei daunse not Then no friendes thei are of myne Ich saye, we kan wende wher it plese us, A place thei shal nevir fynde And we can act lyke we come from Brocéliande Leave the real worlde far behinde

Frank O’Hara

A Muriel Rukeyser for #smallpoemsunday 🖤🖤 @tomsnarsky.bsky.social

The plum you're going to eat next summer.

Rain, rain, rain , rain and more rain. So we told fav human not to use 📷. That would not be a good idee. So a photo from last year at a nice cold day. Hope no rain tomorrow... but for now #goodnight 👋

The everlasting wonder of being – the poetic science of how a cold cosmos kindled the spark of consciousness www.themarginalian.org/2022/08/22/v...

The threshold sings a song of seduction. Shoreline. Riverbank. Wood edge. The witch hears it as summoning, as a promise of magics. It is a kiss in her ear, a pull upon her her bones. The witch is one who answers the call of wonder. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky

The Fascinating History of Tarot Card Decks: From the Renaissance to the Modern Day

"To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance... To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple." Arundhati Roy on the deepest measure of success: www.themarginalian.org/2026/02/22/a...

Happy Sunday and remember to look out for demons!

Alison Trentelman , The shy Raven

Annie Rie, contemporary stained glass artist inspired by the UK countryside #womensart

The continuous thread of revelation – Eudora Welty on writing, time, and embracing the nonlinearity of how we become who we are www.themarginalian.org/2018/02/21/e...

And this morning the Shed is a tesseract; a thing , of many angles, inhabiting two dimensions simultaneously…

If you liked this experiment, I published a full piece today in the same vein: a text that gets 100 years older with every section, from a modern blog post to a medieval chronicle. It's a single story spanning 1000 years of English. See how far you get. www.deadlanguagesociety.com/p/how-far-ba...

Uncommon Grace: The Life of Flannery O'Connor (59 minutes) www.pbs.org/video/uncomm...

"It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death. Millions live like this (or die like this) without knowing it." Anaïs Nin, born on this day in 1903, on how we read ourselves awake from the trance of near-living www.themarginalian.org/2017/01/19/a...

Leonard Koscianski ~ On the Corner (2017)

Paul Celan (trans. by Pierre Joris) ❤️

The mark of the witch is not a third nipple or a refusal to drown, but in a thousand ritual acts as they dance with the land. - Tess Heller, Grey Horse Coven, 1978 #WitchSky

Do you feel how much I love you? With what madness and what lucidity at the same time? ~Albert Camus to Maria Casarès

Helena Georgiou

Bears vs. Trail cameras

Grey wolf

Joy Sullivan

"To handle a language skillfully is to practice a kind of evocative sorcery." Charles Baudelaire

No cheating: your last saved picture of a celebrity is your therapist. (I don't have celebrity photos, but for sure this has to count, right? Also...these two as my therapists. That will go swimmingly well, I'm sure. And also also...these quote is kind of fitting for the task, I suppose.)

Souvenirs with bad jokes are much older that you might think!

Luís Castro Lopo (1958) - "A segunda vela" (de tweede kaars) óleo sobre tábua olieverf op paneel

French textile and environmental artist Edith Meusnier, who creates woven sculptures sited in installations amongst nature #WomfnsAr

Artist: Mirjam Duizendstra (Dutch, paint and collage)

Our world, like an archipelago, offers you, after pain and disaster, strawberries it brings back from the countries of death, as well as its fingers warm from having sought them. -René Char (tr. Mary Ann Caws)

Poem for your Saturday To kiss a forehead is to erase worry ~ Marina Tsvetaeva Translated by Ilya Kaminsky —To kiss a forehead is to erase worry. I kiss your forehead. To kiss the eyes is to lift sleeplessness. I kiss your eyes. To kiss the lips is to drink water. I kiss your lips.

Crow Cam - A fox, a possum, and a skunk walk into a bar...

Artist: Abigail E. Penner

Franz Kafka: Diaries, February 21, 1911

And this morning the Shed is an empty stage, where spiders dance the tarantelle…

You don’t have a home until you leave it and then, when you have left it, you never can go back. James Baldwin

“Grey Gardens,” the Maysles Brothers' documentary about a pair of eccentric patrician recluses, is not just a spectacle of decay, but a portrait of captivating, irrepressible vitality. It was released on this day in 1976: crookedmarquee.com/classic-corn...

A watercolour of a puffin, such funny little birds :) #watercolours #birdart 🪶

Max Le Verrier, 1920. Art Deco Bookends. #1920s #MaxLeVerrier #bookends

A forest knows things. They wire themselves up underground. There are brains down there, ones our own brains aren’t shaped to see. Root plasticity, solving problems and making decisions. Fungal synapses. Link enough trees together, and a forest grows aware. 💚 ― Richard Powers #ForestFriday #ECK

"She must find a boat and sail in it. No guarantee of shore. Only a conviction that what she wanted could exist, if she dared to find it." -- Jeanette Winterson, Oranges are not the only fruit #BookSky

“That’s home. That’s us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives.” On this day in 1993, Carl Sagan drafted what would become his classic Pale Blue Dot. Here it is, animated www.themarginalian.org/2012/12/10/p...

We hear and mirror these conjured up moments of being

Andrew Crozier

"I'm sure I shall always feel like a child in the wood." ~ Lucy Maud Montgomery

"The world already fades as it is spoken." — @dreamsofbeing.bsky.social socratesonthebeach.com/christina-tu...

Night falls. Bushes ink themselves upon the darkening blue background. Wind and traffic merge and make a sea. Its shimmering flow surges into violent crescendo, held then disintegrating. And as the waves fall, birds descant above them in shards of melody, sudden bursts of ornament, sweet and piteous