..from a moonlit rooftop
  ….to dim parlors to a porch
   ……fairy cascades of a cello song
    ……..full cups of dusky coffee, cold
      ……….miracles of a melody musing, flowing
        ………….eyes ablaze with tender knowings



❤ Apocalyptica



daily grateful to these guys for dance inspiration (both K-tigers and BTS)

my (extremely basic) feline taekwondo skills even improved a bit-


by a railway bridge

a dark blue kiss

this touch–
a journey
through aeons
and aeons
of shadow dreams

warm incense
of nocturne meadows,
of birch violins,
of sainted wind

and between smiles
we watch a cloud

quiet, winged

into wild rose

















softest dim



of a maple
whisper, whisper
in lake blue ice

on quiet snow
the samurai
circles a katana
around soft echoes
of past

of a winter soul
floats, floats
in gentle mid falls

above a chapel
of solitude

sacrificing night
to distant blaze
of dawn


inspired by Takashi Matsuoka books



this, a candle of petals, in a chamber each flame’s nuance confessed. off city-loud mirrors to the house of lanterns. to collide with amber aura of gypsy fireflies, to conjure an elixir of wooden shrines. where the floating august joins a chorus of birds sparkling a gate to cellars of river wine… dans la nuit des miracles, in the timeless dawn of blooming stars. altar is any space where essence gifts heart to soft divinity of love



illumine, aubade breaths..

how infinite
a resonance
of quiet sky
in spirit’s lakes

the swan
of Mallarmé
and trembling

when mornings
fog the pavements
and waters carry
softest reveries

of golden rain


inspired by the image of **m*ray**.
she is a magical artist i’ve just discovered thanks to twitter.
here is a link to her page, follow her if you enjoy beautiful and soul-stirring art



this, a small gesture, a witness to heavy chamomile air before homecoming. spring and autumn in sacred geometry. our shoulders, arms, dusks covered with grandma’s linen harboring a stray wind. and the dew storm.. does each ache evanesce into ether, scattering the beauty of tears to slow chanting of what is unsung? river windows reflect crystal skies from the mirth of embracing seasons we’ve become