#woodpath

[leonidasbratini]

Wooden Hiking Path, Spring Park Views, Spring Colors, Printable Gifts, Digital Photo, Home Décor Posters, Download Art, Downloadable Digital

[manasurge]

The new Silk-strewn venue is so cool and I love all the fams and everything (and the Silksong jokes lmao)! Gonna do coli there once Drakeharvest starts (the timing tho lol. A plague of insects that eat everything and IT'S NOT EVEN A PLAGUE VENUE LMAO. It's a Light one. The irony.) I would be lying if I wasn't a bit disappointed that Plague has been forgotten once again. Plz, we need a proper venue... I'm begging you :( I don't consider Mire to be Plague, and even if, we still need a lower level one. All my complaining aside I adore all the fams and everything is so cute (and I love the bosses!). Still, I am a bit bummed out tho...

[cruxymox]

tag game for the poets and poetically inclined ( by @definegodliness )

i've changed the order of these as the last one is by far the longest.

2. one line in a song

"Some day we'll catch a glimpse of eternity"

- Apoptygma Berzerk, from Eclipse

3. one line in a movie

"You shall not pass!"

- Gandalf, from The Lord of the Rings, Fellowship of the Ring ( but you probably knew that already )

4. a word you'll avoid for fear of over-usage

'and' / '&'.

( i don't avoid it well at all, perhaps obviously, but it is one of the most common words i actively try to control )

5. one word that is you, metaphorically (no explanation)

odd

1. a poem that tends to pop into your mind

the following piece is from TS Eliot's Murders in the Cathedral, spoken by the Chorus

( note: i've not read the whole play. mostly just "the death-bringers" pops into my mind, as well as the repetition of "i have seen, i have tasted, i have felt" etc. )

I have smelt them, the death-bringers, senses are quickened

By subtile forebodings; I have heard

Fluting in the nighttime, fluting and owls, have seen at noon

Scaly wings slanting over, huge and ridiculous. I have tasted

The savour of putrid flesh in the spoon. I have felt

The heaving of earth at nightfall, restless, absurd. I have heard

Laughter in the noises of beasts that make strange

noises: jackal, jackass, jackdaw; the scurrying noise

of mouse and jerboa; the laugh of the loon, the

lunatic bird. I have seen Grey necks twisting, rat tails twining, in the thick light

of dawn. I have eaten

Smooth creatures still living, with the strong salt taste

of living things under sea; I have tasted

The living lobster, the crab, the oyster, the whelk and

the prawn; and they live and spawn in my bowels,

and my bowels dissolve in the light of dawn. I have smelt

Death in the rose, death in the hollyhock, sweet pea,

hyacinth, primrose and cowslip. I have seen Trunk and horn, tusk and hoof, in odd places;

I have lain on the floor of the sea and breathed with

the breathing of the sea-anemone, swallowed with

ingurgitation of the sponge. I have lain in the soil

and criticised the worm. In the air

Flirted with the passage of the kite, I have plunged

with the kite and cowered with the wren. I have felt

The horn of the beetle, the scale of the viper, the

mobile hard insensitive skin of the elephant, the

evasive flank of the fish. I have smelt

Corruption in the dish, incense in the latrine, the sewer

in the incense, the smell of sweet soap in the wood-

path, a hellish sweet scent in the woodpath, while

the ground lieaved. I have seen Rings of light coiling downwards, leading

To the horror of the ape. Have I not known, not known

What was coming to be? It was here, in the kitchen, in the passage.

In the mews in the barn in the byre in the market place

In our veins our bowels our skulls as well

As well as in the plottings of potentates

As well as in the consultations of powers.

What is woven on the loom of fate

What is woven in the councils of princes

Is woven also in our veins, our brains.

Is woven like a pattern of living worms

In the guts of the women of Canterbury.

[woodlandtrust]

Autumn, by Elizabeth Drew Stoddard

No melancholy days are these!     Not where the maple changing stands, Not in the shade of fluttering oaks,            Nor in the bands Of twisting vines and sturdy shrubs,     Scarlet and yellow, green and brown, Falling, or swinging on their stalks,            Is Sorrow’s crown. The sparkling fields of dewy grass,     Woodpaths and roadsides decked with flowers, Starred asters and the goldenrod,            Date Autumn’s hours. The shining banks of snowy clouds,     Steadfast in the aerial blue, The silent, shimmering, silver sea,            To Joy are true. My spirit in this happy air     Can thus embrace the dying year, And with it wrap me in a shroud            As bright and clear!

[scottishcommune]

It is not my purpose to dwell at any great length on the Asian heart that so often dazzles the Western head. What is more important here is that this head is more mechanistic, instrumental, and inorganic than it cares to admit. Much that passes for ecological thinking today is as dim methodologically as it is starry-eyed ideologically. Behind the “Third Wave” that is rolling over us, the “new paradigm” that is shifting us, the “feedback” that is electrifying us, and the “woodpaths” that are guiding us, is a bizarre form of thinking that is as airy on its spiritual peaks as it is crudely mechanistic at its hypothetico-deductive base. These contradictory “ecological zones,” as it were, reflect serious ambiguities in nature philosophy itself: namely, its potential to nourish reaction as well as revolution, often with the same visions that fed a Blake at one extreme and a Wagner at the other. These “ecological zones” must be briefly surveyed if the project of thinking ecologically is to be seriously explored.

- Murray Bookchin, Thinking Ecologically: A Dialectical Approach

[yaviae]

POV: living alone in a small cottage in the deepest woods caring for wild animals

[void-mydarling-mylove]

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Calming waves along the Lake Superior Shoreline of the #presqueisleriver Scenic Trails ~

[michaelbdillonphotography]

Hideaway #Shack #InTheWoods #PennyPackTrail #DailyWalk #Cornteen2020 #Quarantine #Woodpath #Abandoned (at Pennypack Trail Byberry Rd Trailhead) https://www.instagram.com/p/B-3E2LKFTk2/?igshid=1wip07va2xwfc

[vita444]

#vita444 #throwback #moss #macro #wood #woodpath #tree #fallentree #abadoned #old #ancient #instagood #instamood #instacool #instapic #instadaily #justphoto #photooftheday #picoftheday #potd https://www.instagram.com/p/B1Y-uSPoI4R/?igshid=2ygvnuht7ec9

[sea-it-deeply]

[sweetbuckybarnes]

What would you do for love?

Pairings: Gilbert Blythe + Anne Shirley

Summary: Slight Gilbert's POV, from when he realised that he was in love with Anne Shirley. Until his second proposal.

It was a few years after Anne had smashed her slate over his head, is when he realised that at the exact moment that he had fallen completely head-over-heels in love with one Anne Shirley.

Gilbert knew that, given the opportunity, he would do absolutely for Anne. He would move heaven and earth to make her happy, he would move mountains to see her smile. Nobody knows what Anne went through in the orphanage, not even Diana! He would trade his life for Matthew's just so she could have more years with her adoptive father.

After winning her hand in friendship, then losing her for 2 years- Gilbert was heartbroken. He had to watch with the shattered remains of his heart, as Anne wandered around the campus of Redmond college - with her arm linked with stupid Royal Gardiner, who took his Anne on expensive trips to restaurants and classy parties.

Then, after his month-long battle with typhoid - his loving mother told him that he had been calling out for Anne, Gilbert knew he would never ‘get over her’, Anne was firmly embedded in his heart - he would rather die as a bachelor, forever pining for Anne Shirley. He would rather do this than marry out of obligation.

A letter from Phil Blake, asked him to try again. That gave him the confidence to ask Anne again. Phil believed that Anne loved him. Surprisingly, Gilbert got over his bout of typhoid fairly quickly after that.

When Gilbert came the next afternoon he found Anne waiting for him, fresh as the dawn and fair as a star, after all the gaiety of the preceding night. She wore a green dress -- not the one she had worn to the wedding, but an old one which Gilbert had told her at a Redmond reception he liked especially. It was just the shade of green that brought out the rich tints of her hair, and the starry gray of her eyes and the iris-like delicacy of her skin. Gilbert, glancing at her sideways as they walked along a shadowy woodpath, thought she had never looked so lovely. Anne, glancing sideways at Gilbert, now and then, thought how much older he looked since his illness. It was as if he had put boyhood behind him forever.

The day was beautiful and the way was beautiful. Anne was almost sorry when they reached Hester Gray's garden, and sat down on the old bench. But it was beautiful there, too -- as beautiful as it had been on the faraway day of the Golden Picnic, when Diana and Jane and Priscilla and she had found it. Then it had been lovely with narcissus and violets; now golden rod had kindled its fairy torches in the corners and asters dotted it bluely. The call of the brook came up through the woods from the valley of birches with all its old allurement; the mellow air was full of the purr of the sea; beyond were fields rimmed by fences bleached silvery gray in the suns of many summers, and long hills scarfed with the shadows of autumnal clouds; with the blowing of the west wind old dreams returned.

"I think," said Anne softly, "that `the land where dreams come true' is in the blue haze yonder, over that little valley."

"Have you any unfulfilled dreams, Anne?" asked Gilbert.

Something in his tone -- something she had not heard since that miserable evening in the orchard at Patty's Place -- made Anne's heart beat wildly. But she made answer lightly.

"Of course. Everybody has. It wouldn't do for us to have all our dreams fulfilled. We would be as good as dead if we had nothing left to dream about. What a delicious aroma that low-descending sun is extracting from the asters and ferns. I wish we could see perfumes as well as smell them. I'm sure they would be very beautiful."

Gilbert was not to be thus sidetracked.

"I have a dream," he said slowly. "I persist in dreaming it, although it has often seemed to me that it could never come true. I dream of a home with a hearth-fire in it, a cat and dog, the footsteps of friends -- and YOU!"

Anne wanted to speak but she could find no words. Happiness was breaking over her like a wave. It almost frightened her.

"I asked you a question over two years ago, Anne. If I ask it again today will you give me a different answer?"

Still Anne could not speak. But she lifted her eyes, shining with all the love-rapture of countless generations, and looked into his for a moment. He wanted no other answer.

They lingered in the old garden until twilight, sweet as dusk in Eden must have been, crept over it. There was so much to talk over and recall -- things said and done and heard and thought and felt and misunderstood.

"I thought you loved Christine Stuart," Anne told him, as reproachfully as if she had not given him every reason to suppose that she loved Roy Gardner.

Gilbert laughed boyishly.

"Christine was engaged to somebody in her home town. I knew it and she knew I knew it. When her brother graduated he told me his sister was coming to Kingsport the next winter to take music, and asked me if I would look after her a bit, as she knew no one and would be very lonely. So I did. And then I liked Christine for her own sake. She is one of the nicest girls I've ever known. I knew college gossip credited us with being in love with each other. I didn't care. Nothing mattered much to me for a time there, after you told me you could never love me, Anne. There was nobody else -- there never could be anybody else for me but you. I've loved you ever since that day you broke your slate over my head in school."

"I don't see how you could keep on loving me when I was such a little fool," said Anne.

"Well, I tried to stop," said Gilbert frankly, "not because I thought you what you call yourself, but because I felt sure there was no chance for me after Gardner came on the scene. But I couldn't -- and I can't tell you, either, what it's meant to me these two years to believe you were going to marry him, and be told every week by some busybody that your engagement was on the point of being announced. I believed it until one blessed day when I was sitting up after the fever. I got a letter from Phil Gordon -- Phil Blake, rather -- in which she told me there was really nothing between you and Roy, and advised me to `try again.' Well, the doctor was amazed at my rapid recovery after that."

Anne laughed -- then shivered.

"I can never forget the night I thought you were dying, Gilbert. Oh, I knew -- I KNEW then -- and I thought it was too late."

"But it wasn't, sweetheart. Oh, Anne, this makes up for everything, doesn't it? Let's resolve to keep this day sacred to perfect beauty all our lives for the gift it has given us."

"It's the birthday of our happiness," said Anne softly. "I've always loved this old garden of Hester Gray's, and now it will be dearer than ever."

"But I'll have to ask you to wait a long time, Anne," said Gilbert sadly. "It will be three years before I'll finish my medical course. And even then there will be no diamond sunbursts and marble halls."

Anne laughed.

"I don't want sunbursts and marble halls. I just want YOU. You see I'm quite as shameless as Phil about it. Sunbursts and marble halls may be all very well, but there is more `scope for imagination' without them. And as for the waiting, that doesn't matter. We'll just be happy, waiting and working for each other -- and dreaming. Oh, dreams will be very sweet now."

Gilbert smiled brightly at Anne, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a soft bag. “Anne, I have been in love with you since was 13. They say that a fellow can love a million women, but it's a man who can love one woman a million ways. That is exactly how I feel about you. There is no one else that I would to be with for the rest of my life," Gilbert tells her, as he gets down on to one knee - how he probably should have done it the first time around... Gilbert was still a little rusty with wandering around, so when he got down on one knee, he wobbled - which Anne helped him balance out. There were tears in her eyes and a massive smile on her face. " 3 years from now, will you marry me, my sweet Anne-girl?”

Anne also smiled brightly, taking Gilbert's hand that wasn't holding the soft bag. "Yes," she tells him.

The bright smile on Gilbert's, widened even more. Gilbert got up off his knee (with a little bit of help from Anne), he opened the bag and tipped it into his palm. "I know it's not much," Gilbert tells her, the ring now hanging between his thumb and forefinger. "But, once I'm a doctor and we have a decent amount of money, I'll get you one that is better,"

Anne shakes her head, "I don't want any other ring. It's perfect, Gil," Anne answers, shuffling closer to Gilbert - now her fiancé. She held her hand out to him, to which he put her engagement ring on. "Gil, it's beautiful."

Gilbert smiled at his Anne. His Anne-girl, his best friend, the love of his life, his fiancée, the future Mrs. Doctor Blythe, the future mother of his child(ren). "Ma gave it to me, after I was able to get out of bed, and was walking up and down the stairs. She must have read the letter that Phil sent to me. She gave it to me the other day,"

Anne looked down at her engagement ring. A beautiful circlet of pearls, a Blythe family heirloom. Nearly 3 years from now, Anne will be a Blythe - she'll be Gilbert's wife. A bride for a day, a wife for the rest of her life. "I love you, Gil,"

Those 4 words, those simple words. He's been waiting to hear them come from Anne's lips for so long. "You will never know how much and how long I have been waiting to hear those words,"

Gilbert drew her close to him and kissed her. Then they walked home together in the dusk, crowned king and queen in the bridal realm of love, along winding paths fringed with the sweetest flowers that ever bloomed, and over haunted meadows where winds of hope and memory blew.

[regina-cordium]

i was literally just abt to ask whether we get any resolution to gideon seeing the woodpath killer at the gas station, and then ep 2 LITERALLY starts with the resolution

[yaviae]

[penelopetalleur]

#myoffice #dogwalk #dogwalking #dogwalker #woodpath #forresttrail Beautiful

[void-mydarling-mylove]

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Mouth of the river at the #presqueisleriver Scenic Trails ~

[antiquery]

I have smelt Corruption in the dish, incense in the latrine, the sewer in the incense, the smell of sweet soap in the wood- path, a hellish sweet scent in the woodpath, while the ground lieaved. I have seen Rings of light coiling downwards, leading To the horror of the ape. Have I not known, not known What was coming to be? It was here, in the kitchen, in the passage. In the mews in the barn in the byre in the market place In our veins our bowels our skulls as well As well as in the plottings of potentates As well as in the consultations of powers. What is woven on the loom of fate What is woven in the councils of princes Is woven also in our veins, our brains. Is woven like a pattern of living worms In the guts of the women of Canterbury. I have smelt them, the death-bringers; now is too late For action, too soon for contrition. Nothing is possible but the shamed swoon Of those consenting to the last humiliation. I have consented. Lord Archbishop, have consented. Am torn away, subdued, violated. United to the spiritual flesh of nature, Mastered by the animal powers of spirit. Dominated by the lust of self-demolition. By the final utter uttermost death of spirit. By the final ecstasy of waste and shame, O Lord Archbishop, O Thomas Arcnbishop, forgive us, forgive us, pray for us that we may pray for you, out of our shame.

T.S. Eliot, Murder in the Cathedral