I don’t think there can be anything doper…
This gold rush town will be home in the New Year. Here’s hoping for a little house within walking distance to the Curly Wolf, the National Hotel, and the botanicals store. Here’s hoping I’ll actually make friends this time. Here’s hoping I’ll catch some trout! Here’s hoping I’ll save enough money to land myself in Spain or Russian or Japan within a year! CONCRETE GOALS
Candle on the bedside table under the orange glass light; lavender, coconut on my skin, silk, slippery surfaces to sleep in, around, under; Carl Sagan’s voice from the other room; “in other words- the laws of nature”; new boxes of black currant tea; earlier foiled fishing attempts below the Rollins dam; sharp words; sharp blackberry brambles; my dusty black car; gold rush streets in the mountains; dreams of new homes by the river; and back through the central valley to our home; feels new and strangely familiar through the short absence; heaviness of sleep.
Morning fragments: Sacred harp by candlelight, People’s Pint from Greenfield, Mass.
Self-reblog yo. A photo from spring in New Hampshire breaks the spell of fall.