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The plum you're going to eat next summer

by Gayle Brandeis

The plum you’re going to eat next summer doesn’t exist yet; its potential lives inside a tree you’ll never see in an orchard you’ll never see, will be touched by a certain number of water droplets before it reaches you, by certain angles of light, by a finite amount of bugs and dust motes and hands you’ll never know. The plum you are going to eat next summer will gather sugar, gather mass, will harden at its center so it can soften toward your mouth. The plum you’re going to eat next summer doesn’t know you exist. The plum you are going to eat next summer is growing just for you.

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Student studying under a tree, Bryn Mawr, 1966.

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ok but what book? i crave that feeling so bad😭😭

it was honestly the most random book that my boyfriend picked up for me from a second hand shop solely based on the title - it’s called “baisers de cinema” by eric fottorino & it was very good i enjoyed it:-)

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i started reading this quite long book on saturday and i finished it yesterday before going to bed and it honestly felt like im 16 again on a summer vacation just devouring books one after the other. haven’t done that in such a long time it just feels so good to sit for hours doing nothing but reading, not rushing through it, just savoring each page & each line as the hours go by, closing the book every now and then to go do something else but always coming back to it excited for the next page. so peaceful and such a luxurious feeling to have

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go on more walks. walk for no reason. walk to solve a problem. walk to blow off steam. walk to get outside. walk to listen, read, and learn. walk to escape distractions. walk to improve your health. walk to think. a simple walking habit can change absolutely everything.

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the sun annihilated meeeee today

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Entering the Kingdom by Mary Oliver

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summer evening, windows open, a light breeze inside my room, freshly washed bedsheets, salted tomatoes on toasted bread, music playing in the background, sunshine dappled floor, wearing my summer perfume. moment of bliss

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nostalgic & dreamy & melancholic & happy all at the same time :)

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Summer Solstice

by Stacie Cassarino

I wanted to see where beauty comes from without you in the world, hauling my heart across sixty acres of northeast meadow, my pockets filling with flowers. Then I remembered, it’s you I miss in the brightness and body of every living name: rattlebox, yarrow, wild vetch. You are the green wonder of June, root and quasar, the thirst for salt. When I finally understand that people fail at love, what is left but cinquefoil, thistle, the paper wings of the dragonfly aeroplaning the soul with a sudden blue hilarity? If I get the story right, desire is continuous, equatorial. There is still so much I want to know: what you believe can never be removed from us, what you dreamed on Walnut Streetin the unanswerable dark of your childhood, learning pleasure on your own. Tell me our story: are we impetuous, are we kind to each other, do we surrender to what the mind cannot think past? Where is the evidence I will learn to be good at loving? The black dog orbits the horseshoe pond for treefrogs in their plangent emergencies. There are violet hills, there is the covenant of duskbirds. The moon comes over the mountain like a big peach, and I want to tell you what I couldn’t say the night we rushed North, how I love the seriousness of your fingers and the way you go into yourself, calling my half-name like a secret. I stand between taproot and treespire. Here is the compass rose to help me live through this. Here are twelve ways of knowing what blooms even in the blindness of such longing. Yellow oxeye, viper’s bugloss with its set of pink arms pleading do not forget me. We hunger for eloquence. We measure the isopleths. I am visiting my life with reckless plenitude. The air is fragrant with tiny strawberries. Fireflies turn on their electric wills: an effulgence. Let me come back whole, let me remember how to touch you before it is too late.

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my new favorite thing to do is saying hi baby out loud to every butterfly that flies near me. <3 soon enough i'll be friends w every butterfly in the neighborhood

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After many springs by Langston Hughes

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The Beach Boys's Brian Wilson sits alone in a church. (c. 70s/80s, photographer unknown)

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seeing my love this weekend yippieee!!!