Maybe Love Is In New York City, Already Asleep, And You Are In California, Australia, Wide Awake. Maybe

“The scent of blossom, morning sweetness, heavenly felicity.”

— Nikos Kazantzakis, tr. by Carl Wildman, from “Zorba the Greek,” wr. c. 1946

elinalukka on ig

In soundless dreams // Part 6

some of the photos i took on my run yesterday

trees dont get enough love

they’re strong mighty beings who shield you from danger

they’re delicate ethereal beings enveloped in flower blossom, emitting the sense of love

their leaves crinkle under your footsteps, their leaves brush past you as you wander through the forest

trees arent scary, they’re wise and beautiful

whisper kind words to them as you walk past

they will protect you if you protect them

I gave my heart in soft surrender—

Edna St. Vincent Millay, from Collected Poems; “Truck-Garden Market-Day,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

“You get what anybody gets - You get a lifetime.”

— The Sandman by Neil Gaiman

“My brother used to ask the birds to forgive him; that sounds senseless but it is right; for all is like the ocean, all things flow and touch each other; a disturbance in one place is felt at the other end of the world.”

— Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

“I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.” -Claude Monet

When I was in school, one of my art teachers used to say “this world needs more creators. There’s more than enough destroyers in the world today.”

Just a reminder, if you create anything–art, writing, food, machines, ideas, equations, knits, tools, gardens–the world needs you.