Magickal Dolly, Itty Bitty Spider

Tis a time for charms and enchantments. She's found an escape in the countryside, away from the crowds and dust of the city. Loud music is replaced by the chirping of crickets and cicadas and the whistle of the wind through the trees.





She made Earth-Mother dolly of yarn and scrap fabric. In Earth-Mother's head, she placed a spell on thin piece of paper, a reminder to keep nature close to her heart. Earth-Mother sits on her couch in Apartment Eight, tsk-tsking every time one forgets to recycle.



The apartment has a new resident. His name is Ben and he lives in the upper-corner of the bathroom. He comes and goes as he pleases.

Putting in a Word for the Count...

Oh, so many books to be read! Her shelves are full, her eyes are sore. But how wonderful it is to have things to read.

The pinnacle of her summer reading revolves around a certain swashbuckler by the name of Edmond Dantes, but most of you know him as Monsieur le Comte d'Monte Cristo. Tall, somber, and all that is dashing and dark, our entrepreneuring earl seems a static figure through the layers of years. He is unchanging, yet constantly evolving, sinking through the fabric of time like rot through a fleshy fruit. For in his eyes he holds the promise of revenge, the insanity of imprisonment, the pure heart of a sailor.

The girl insists you read this heavy gem of a book, for hardly has she come upon a book so grand, so impossible. It leaves one rather breathless. What else can be expected of the Napoleonic years? An unstable environment makes shifty, extreme characters.



She gives it 5 hearts. ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Apologies for the lacking of posts. She promises that there's more to come.

Foggy Stream

There are fruit flies in the house; they're secretly pesty fairies in disguise, seeking shelter from the rainy outside. It's been raining a great deal, and the flowers have been coaxed from their hiding places. In the mornings, the sky mists over in a tearful fashion.





The streams are sweating, fogging incessantly. The fairies tell of summertime. It's time to hide a holey stone beneath the door. She doesn't think she can stand anymore fairy-flies.

Small, Magical, Summerlike Things

Today it is ever so rainy and wet. But it is so very green as well; I saw the worms on the sidewalk and heard birds in the trees. It smells like summer. The last little bit of frost is gone from the grounds and flowers are growing. Daffodils come first; I think they always do.

Summer makes me think of lovely things, like chalk on sidewalks, long walks at night, stars and coffee, frisbee, campfire songs, lollipops and popsicles, sprinklers, and warm, muggy evenings that never seem to end.

I think there is something beautiful to be had in every season, but I'd like to think summer is my favorite season of all. I enjoy its laziness, its relaxed nature. I shall be working and commuting this summer, but all in all, should have a bit extra time.

I've made myself a little list of things to do this summer:

• Go camping.
• Paint a picture.
• Read some books.
• Have some tea parties.
• Chalk up some sidewalks
• Go rollerblading.
• Sew.
• Play my trumpet more.
• Go for midnight walks/runs.
• Blow bubbles.
• Make a blanket tent on the patio.
• Learn how to bellydance.
• Go to a concert.
• Spend some quality time at an all-night diner.

There's something about doing 'nothing' that seems busy as well. I could paint or sew or go for a run and still do absolutely 'nothing'. I think 'nothing' implies spontaneity, an act done regardless of deadline, with no limits or setbacks in mind. Nothing is essentially something, but at the same time, that very something is nothing. I am very fond of nothingness, I think. I am feeling quite whimsical.

Have a wonderful evening.

"I shall make myself a wonderful tent and decorate it with holiday lights.
I'm going to write out some invites and send them to the furthest of kingdoms
and invite all the powdered, stiff ladies
And we'll have ourselves a tea party to head off the season."