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There is purity in living beautifully. To indulge in the small ecstasies, the small pleasures. Silk dresses, white tea, gold, sunshine, carved crown molding. It is all malleable, atmospherically- our lives. Simplicity, blue palms, white wines, whipped espresso. You create your paradise out of all these simple luxuries, and that’s purely religious. True divinity wades in the warm oceans of bliss.

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As she gazed out the window and surveyed the soggy landscape, suddenly goosebumps cropped up on Mary’s pale arms. There was a person out there, and she realized with a warm wash of discomfort that she was making inadvertent eye contact with them. Mary let a small squeak out of her mouth and quickly hopped away from the window. Oh gosh, she had been staring. Staring was rude, They probably thought she was rude. And staring at a stranger? What a creep. “Oh gosh way to go, that’s one way to make friends” Mary chided herself under her breath, feeling slightly nauseated. She took a deep breath and tried to relax herself with a reminder that she had meant no harm and this was her house and if she wanted to look out the window she could. She turned, ever so slightly and looked just enough around the side of the window to be able to study them again. Their black hair hung around their face, sopping wet and barely held back by a headband of some kind. Mary felt a slight pang in her stomach; it wasn’t exactly a good day to be outside in nothing but jeans and a sopping wet tank top. You catch a cold like that. Mary thought to herself. You get sick like that. You get a cough, and the cough develops into pneumonia with the damp air and possibility for spore growth, and the pneumonia metastasizes and the hospital here is so tiny and it doesn't even need to be that cold for someone to develope a serious case of hypothermia which could potentially if left untreated become life threatening... Mary noticed that her finger had begun to nervously twist and pull at her hair and she stopped herself. No one was going to get sick. An intervention would be nothing more than an umbrella. She could do this. Meeting new neighbors right? Good, right? Mary steeled herself for possible human interaction and jogged to the door, pulling up her wool stockings just past her knew and slipping on her fur lined boots. She buttoned her pink cardigan clumsily (trying not to think about other illness that grows in the damp) and then reached to the coat hanger for a warm knitted scarf, and another sweater. The small brunette threw the extra sweater over her thing form and looped the scarf around her neck. For an instant she reveled in the smell of home, and lavender. She reached into the bucket by the door and grabbed an umbrella, opening the door tentatively. At the last moment she stopped and whirled around, deciding to grab another sweater for the poor sopping wet person. Fully prepared, she then hobbled outside nervously and began to approach the person. “H-hello..!” She called out with a voice crack, opening the umbrella to shield herself from the steady shower. “Hello...? I won’t hurt you,” she yelled a little louder than she perhaps needed too. “Are you okay?” She asked with an audible nervousness in her tone, her tempo of step somewhere between an awkward two step and a skip as if she couldn’t decide whether or not she should close the last 10 feet of distance between her and the figure.

A poorly timed trip to the woods had led to the usual outcome of walking home completely soaked to the bone on the way back to her apartment. And as luck would have it, Strawberry was the last one in the long long row of houses. “Great time to wearing jeans and a thin tank top,” Dagmar grumbled as the rain poured down at an even heavy rate. It was definitely days like these where she just had to wonder how pissed off Ama was. Though she did suppose some people did enjoy it- like wasn’t there some fancy word for the smell of the rain like pichor. 

The soaked hiker had been just casually observing the houses as she walked for anything out of the ordinary which at this point had grown to become an ordinary thing when she accidentally made eye contact with an unfamiliar woman gazing through a window. 

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pink clothes ‘u’

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hey i have a cute date idea: wild berry picking in the forest. afterwards we can bake some pies and then eat them, all the while listening to birdsong coming in through the windows of our woodland cottage.

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The windows on her townhouse were open slightly to let in the smell of the rain and the sound of the birds chirping outside. On her stove was a pan of what would be oatmeal, bubbling away quietly. Mary stood at her kitchen counter, chopping up some fresh berries for a topping on her snack, which also happened to be the only food she seemed to be able to successfully cook without ruining a pan, setting a towel on fire, or creating just plan yuck. She sighed softly to herself, readjusting the soft cotton scarf she had wrapped around her head. which kept her hair from falling into her field of view. She could feel the ache of days work in her lower back already, carrying her boxes and suitcases and knickknacks up from the ferry to her new home. The anxiety of being in a new place took hold of her like a bad flu when she had first entered the general store to pick up some grocery necessities. Mary put down her paring knife and sighed heavily, popping a sweet berry into her mouth and putting her face into her hands. so many new faces. So many new anxieties to face. She rubbed her temples gently as she wondered to herself about the status of the job at the hospital she had read about prior to contacting her new landlords on the island. She had new neighbors to meet too. So much to do.

“Welcome home,” she murmured softly to herself as if trying to comfort the butterflies that threatened to erupt from her stomach. She stood and went to the stove, stirred her bubbling oats, and moved to the window above the sink for some fresh air, peaking out to see if anyone was about in the rain.

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…I like simple things, books, being alone, or with somebody who understands.

Daphne du Maurier, The Lover (via wordsnquotes)

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How right it is to love flowers and the greenery of pines and ivy and hawthorn hedges; they have been with us from the very beginning.

Vincent van Gogh (via girlinlondon)

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A pair of cars left abandoned in the woods [1600×1067] By Kaneko Amury

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June 10th 2016 I have never had friends my age in my neighborhood to play in the street till evening but I have finally been exploring the forest that can only exist by the lack of houses.

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concept: my home is completely overgrown. vines have made a nest around my backyard. i lay in dappled sunlight and share stories with a stray cat

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Need a relaxing moment? Imagine wearing one of these frothy dresses. Repeat evocative words like gossamer, diaphanous, and ethereal. Envision the peaceful bliss of a springtime idyll. Then take a deep breath before returning to reality….

Woman’s Dressing Gown (Tea Gown), 1907, by Jeanne Hallée

Woman’s Evening Dress, c. 1817, France

Woman’s “Happiness” Dinner Dress, fall 1916, by Lucile, Lady Duff-Gordon

Woman’s Court Ensemble: Skirt, Bodice, and Headdress, 1950, by Norman Hartnell

Woman’s Dress, c. 1908, United States

Woman’s Evening Dress: Top, Skirt, and Underskirt, 1979, by Zandra Rhodes

Woman’s Dinner Dress: Bodice and Skirt, c. 1902–7, by Gustave Beer

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The Perfect Garden by Lo Bjurulf for Åhlens

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There are two types of summer; white and dark.

White summers are those full of lawn and linen, the sea and soft sunshine, cherries and children’s smiles, in which you feel disconnected and light, almost floating, dreamy and distant in a haze of white dandelion fluff. You don’t ever want to land.

Dark summers are honeyed and sulky, full of pomegranates, thunderstorms, magnolias and un-kept promises. Cinematic and shadowy, you exist in a trance of melancholy, and feel passionately, though feign detachment. Pandora opens the box, and lightening fills the sky.