November roots.

Wrapped in night and november rain while wondering why the whoosh of wet wheels on distant streets is so surprisingly soothing. 

                                                          ....And Rumi

Ten random things.

10 random things for those who asked.

1. As a a child, I'd live in books. I'd twirl around with them in my hands thinking one day I might be able to fall into them, immersing myself in their colorful pages like Alice in Wonderland or Mary Poppins.

2) I have a terrible habit of wanting to accelerate over speed bumps while driving, and attribute this greatly to having jumped horses for years. In english equestrian, slowing before takeoff can be disastrous, because in those last two seconds if anything, you need to build more momentum.
By the way, I adore the word, "momentum."

3) I fall in love with landscapes and cities the way I do people, taken with their light, their triumphs their darkness and complications. Sometimes after leaving a place, heartache moves through me like pieces of broken glass that I'll choke for months. When I left San Francisco, I couldn't stand to look at a photo of the city for a long time as it gave me a nearly unbearable sense of longing.

4) Favorite things: maps, rooftops, cabins, mountains, typewriters, letters, and trains. Also, road trips. Ask me to go on one, anywhere. We'll stop in every small town and learn the history and stories, feel the ground and capture the spirit. Then we'll turn in it into our own story that will live inside our history to carry with us, always. Because stories are more important than things:)

5) I prefer to exist in the land of creativity and imagination so much that I end up lost and frustrated over superficial things, practical steps, and technical details. I prefer to call them "writer problems" rather than "blonde moments."

6) I think dogs and children are magic. One day I'll have a blue Great Dane and live somewhere between the mountains and sea in a place with extended springtimes and autumns, a garden, a guitar, a camera, and a room full of bookshelves. Children may or may not be included.

7) I try and learn anything and everything I can about the body. It's beyond earthly, brilliant, spiritual and beautiful. I can only hope that one day everyone will see that we walk around in these immensely awesome, energetic structures.

8) I'm primarily an introvert but of course, this doesn't mean I don't love people deeply. You likely fascinate and intrigue me. Tell me your story:)

9) I think pain (physical and otherwise) is incredibly important and telling. Stop hiding, masking and shutting it down. It always comes around in another form.

10) Writing is my comfort, my exploration, my adventure, my thrill, my sanctuary, my home.

photo source:

Hope like an ocean.

Cool sheets, an unfolding night 
and the scent of southern storms. 

Tired eyes and shoulders.

Hope like an ocean.

photo source

Don't mourn moments.

Don't mourn memories, people and moments for long. 
You may think they're gone, 
but they have stayed inside your body. 
Stories are the maps we've drawn,
 rolling alongside breath,
 strung around our tissue,
 pulsing with our heartbeats.

Night conversations.

I love the silence between two people.
 The quiet acknowledgement, 
the falling into knowing, and comfort between words 
as we lapse into our own minds, 
simply breathing and being while sharing space and time. 
This is the most powerful type of companionship: the kind when sentences flow, and then drift into silence when the need to be wrapped in that becomes greater.

Night conversations are also the ones I love best. 

Bonds grow deeper in the dark, 
our stories climbing to the surface to be seen.

These moments will live the longest in our minds; 

conversations by candle and moonlight 

with our sleep deprived eyes.

The breeze here.

"Here’s what our parents never taught us:
You will stay up on your rooftop until sunlight

 peels away the husk of the moon,

chain smoking cigarettes and reading Baudelaire, 

and you will learn that you only ever want to fall in love 

with someone who will stay up

 to watch the sun rise with you.

You will fall in love with train rides, 

and sooner or later you will realize

 that nowhere seems like home anymore.
A woman will kiss you 

and you’ll think her lips are two petals
rubbing against your mouth.
You will not tell anyone

 that you liked it.
It’s okay.

It is beautiful to love humans in a world 

where love is a metaphor for lust.

You can leave if you want, 

with only your skin as a carry-on.
All you need is a twenty in your pocket and a bus ticket.
All you need is someone on the other end of the map, 

thinking about the supple curves of your body,

 to guide you to a home

 that stretches out

 for miles and miles on end.

You will lie to everyone you love.
They will love you anyways.

One day you’ll wake up and realize 

that you are too big

 for your own skin.
Molt.
Don’t be afraid.

Your body is a house 

where the shutters blow in and out
against the windowpane.
You are a hurricane-prone area.
The glass will break through often.
But it’s okay. I promise.

Remember,a stranger once told you

 that the breeze here is something worth 

writing poems about."

— “Here’s What Our Parents Never Taught Us,” Shinji Moon