Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Back to Leaves of Grass

Back to A is the eternal home of my heart. It's quiet here. I can read again. Think. Write. Dream. Paint. Wander. Right now I'm reading Whitman in bed and he's wonderful, and so is the fragile morning light and her damp breath against my window. Harold and Luigi stretch languidly on either side, knowing only the certainty of my love. When you realize that where you are is exactly right, life unfolds in petals. 

Home decor is an expression of the creative mind. This week, I am back to reading everything I love. If there are no quiet spaces in your home - and in your day - if a person, or a vocation demands a frantic lifestyle you no longer enjoy - just stop. It's not worth it. 

Back to alone, but in a world which considers that state of being the noblest of pursuits. 

This hour I tell things in confidence. 
I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.  
I have learned that to be with those I like is enough. 
To resist much. Obey little.  
We were together. I forget the rest.
-Walt Whitman


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