Dreaming...

Why, oh why, do I not live here? I think I might never go out. I think I could daydream endlessly until that book I always wanted to write emerged.

From Kitschy Living.

The Wildness of the Heart

We built our castle as close to the sky as we could, and spent our days with the eagles and the vultures. The thin air silenced our voices, and all we could look at was the rich green cleft we perched in.

Never have I known such refined, diamond silence. We nestled in, built walls against the wind. We sat, and gazed, and wanted nothing but purity and the delicious thrill of clinging on, up high, and nearly floating.

The world seemed distant, and yet the earth spoke of terrifying beauty, exuberance, power. I wanted nothing but to hold its answers in my soul forever. I felt myself slip into a wilderness folk-tale of a knotted-hair girl amongst the pine forests. I wanted nothing but you and the air rising up beneath us.

We built our city and filled it with walking hopes and dreams.

It was a place of curious lights and unknown visions, and in it I was certain of everything I thought I had not known. Our castle in the air is a breath, a mosaic of lights, an openness behind the eyes, that will always be there. It is you and me and utter freedom. Us, exultant and wondering.

Solid, but flying.
(Photos from my amazing holiday in the Tarn valley of France)

I should have been a quiet soul in the cool candle-lit cloisters

I am so lucky at the moment, because my days are spent working on and dreaming about things like this.

There's something about the detail, the pure rich colours, the glimpse into another world you have to remind yourself was real once. There is such care and joy over each detail that it makes me wonder whether modern art is often so empty and plain because we rush through life without enjoying it, or even noticing it. Such skill has painted these vivid dreams of life so richly - and you don't have to be a medievalist to wander into those dreams and be absorbed in the colours.

I wish that it could never end.

Once a King or Queen in Narnia, always a King or Queen in Narnia.

In the deepest nooks of my mind all stories take place in a white-silver world coated in snow and silenced with soft, knife-edged white powder. The ice queen rules there and has always reigned in pure silence, surrounded by pewter shadows and blue light. All is pale and too beautiful to be real. There is danger there, wolves and sharp edges and chilled bones. But it is the most beautiful place.

Ever since I was a girl this is the one place I have always gone back to. To me it is emptiness and magic. Purity, and depth.

Queen of the snow. What more is there?

(caittorok, abi-sweetheart, if i had wings, insanity plea, katherine squier, magic does happen, laughaway, when cookies scream)