Oh, to sit in the morning sun. Both brand new and ancient.
Can they hear you?
The memories of days forgotten.
Left behind with the melted snow.
The last note of a song that goes on forever.
Are you still there, in the dark of a starless night?
Sitting, Trembling, forgotten the smell of morning dew.
If you whisper, they might just hear you.
the beginning of a new melody, a single note.
Of a song sung in the morning light.
Ah I love sleeping with my window wide open. I can hear all kinds of nice things like cats making demon like noises while they fight, or strange music coming from the woods near my house :)
does anyone else feel more cottagecore in the spring/summer and more dark academia in the fall/winter?
Mentally I am swinging on a wooden plank rope swing, watching the birds in the sky, the long grass and wildflowers sway, feeling the soft breeze through my hair, and listening to the rustling of the leaves on the trees. It’s golden hour.
Hi cuties :’) Do I even need to apologize for being inactive at this point? Lmao. I’ll never return to my peak in 2016/2017, haha. Anyway, this was a request from my friend that I realized I never posted. Oops. I hope u like it I luv yall sm!!!!
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The first time she saw him it was May. Dewdrops danced on Silver Dollars and Lamb’s-ear, and Jasmine and Lily of the Valley were braided into her hair. She spent her days in May collecting flowers and herbs for her mother, ever since spring came, her mother had been bedridden, and worrying __ mad. She knew the herbs would help substantially, but she also knew the roses and carnations would heal a different side of her mother. On her way down to the carnation field just beyond the woods that swallowed her quaint little property, she saw him. She knew who he was, rather what he was before she had the opportunity to approach him. If she hadn’t the knowledge very little would have kept her from running to him. Her mother always warned her of his kind, they were dangerous, they would rip out your womb and starve you of food- but the way his gunmetal eyes stared into hers the moment he noticed her walk past him was enough to have her in his trance. He sat inside a faerie ring, several small birds clung to his sides, and a Barn Owl perched on his arm. If it weren’t for her mother on her mind, perhaps she would have been bolder- instead, she just broke a moment of eye contact and walked right past him, choosing to ignore his existence, and he ignored hers.
The second time she saw him, she wasn’t so timid. Spore prints were her intention that day, or at least that’s what she told her mother, and while toadstools grew at random in the clearing in her backyard, she couldn’t help but be attracted to the faerie ring in which she had seen him the first time.
Much to her disappointment, the face she had stumbled across weeks ago wasn’t present. It would’ve been easier for her to acknowledge him if he was already there, but she figured she would have to take measures into her own hands. With little to no forethought, she held her breath, closed her eyes, then stepped right into the vacant ring in the clearing.
Before she even had the opportunity to open her eyes, she felt her body being vaulted backwards. She shrieked, then groaned as her back hit the ground beneath her. Upon opening her eyes, she saw him, the Fae with the beautiful eyes staring down at her. She couldn’t help but smirk at the slightest- lore always said that the Fae folk would do anything to make you miserable, but it almost seemed like this one was looking out for her. Before she could say anything to him, he disappeared just as fast as he came. She picked herself back up, sighed, then returned back home.
New history chat! This time we’re talking about the history of recycling and how efforts to reduce and reuse actually helped to win the Second World War. The video shows that cottagecore and solarpunk ideals have been present at other times throughout history, and that we lost them over the course of a single generation.
