words by frederick perls
just when i thought it was impossible to like him more…
he creates cradlesong.
i liked him with matchbox twenty. his first solo album, something to be, captured my undivided attention, twisting me into an absolute admirer. and then, after her diamonds finds its way into my ears, i have become completely fascinated with this man, flipping through stations on the radio looking for his music like a schoolgirl with a new crush.
he has a way.
his sultry voice, almost whispering the emotion pouring out of him, gives as much meaning and depth to the space between the words as the word itself, while playing the piano, without the need to display a glorified rockstar image. as if all that isn’t enough, he is just about as sexy as they come.
art by curly girl design
words by pablo neruda
waking up as the sun
slowly crawls out of bed
to unveil its dim light
into my room
through thin crevices
of thick curtains
while my body
unmoving
lazily lays
under heavy blankets.
dawn whispers
deep secrets of the world
into my ears
trying hard not to awaken
my unopened eyes.
remains of
sweet dreams
linger in the silence
inviting my quiet mind
into the seductive garden
of play
without abandoning
the innocence of truth.
rain spent eight straight days at my house last week without wearing out its welcome, while fall, in its own sweet time, is making its way to my doorstep for an extended stay, prompting the baker in me to heat up some red velvety goodness.
while on hiatus, i am rediscovering joys that were temporarily misplaced, including my love for a good novel while curled up under the covers, losing track of time, waltzing into a world of characters, both eccentric and familiar, that brings to light the hidden pleasures of ordinary moments. books find me, not the other way around, with a story that gently pulls me in, a well-kept secret i can no longer live without, capturing my attention until i am fully aware of the message it is trying to convey, reminding me of all that i may (or may not) have forgotten.
it was the passionately falling rain and electrifying roar of thunder that induced a kid-in-a-candy-store excitement this weekend. i have been patiently awaiting this storm since i showed up in the lone star state over a month ago. so when it arrived friday night, i felt a sudden urge to pick up the phone and share the news and then run outside to feel the rain on my face. instead, i grabbed the ever-so-captivating book that has been keeping me up all hours of the night and smilingly tucked myself into bed, silently relishing an extraordinary moment of perfection.
i just recently discovered kate lightfoot’s artwork and instantly fell in love with her lovely idea of the big-eyed, quirky girl image.
All the true vows
are secret vows
the ones we speak out loud
are the ones we break.
There is only one life
you can call your own
and a thousand others
you can call by any name you want.
Hold to the truth you make
every day with your own body,
don’t turn your face away.
Hold to your own truth
at the center of the image
you were born with.
Those who do not understand
their destiny will never understand
the friends they have made
nor the work they have chosen
nor the one life that waits
beyond all the others.
By the lake in the wood
in the shadows
you can
whisper that truth
to the quiet reflection
you see in the water.
Whatever you hear from
the water, remember,
it wants you to carry
the sound of its truth on your lips.
Remember,
in this place
no one can hear you
and out of the silence
you can make a promise
it will kill you to break,
that way you’ll find
what is real and what is not.
I know what I am saying.
Time almost forsook me
and I looked again.
Seeing my reflection
I broke a promise
and spoke
for the first time
after all these years
in my own voice,
before it was too late
to turn my face again.
~ david whyte
