wanderlust

Mars was a stoplight in the north sky, the only real meat on the night’s black bones, and I said: Mars, why be parsimonious? You’ve got a million tricks stashed in your orbital back hills; chicory suns bobbing in viridian lagoons; quasars dwindling near the speed of light; pinwheel, dumbbell, and impacted galaxies; epileptic nuclei a mile long; vampiric moons; dicotyledon suns; whorling dustbowls of umbilical snow; and milky ways that, on the slant, look like freshly fed pythons.

diane ackerman

In the Inuit language family, orientation to places is a very exacting and constantly practiced science; where English has here and there, the Inuit system has fully eighty words, and there is no way to say simply ‘there‘ without specifying who it’s there relative to; whether it’s up, down, or over there; whether the shape of there is roundish or longish; and how the thing that’s there is or isn’t moving.

nathanael bonnell, some notes on cartography and storytelling

Sometimes someone grinds ink, mixes it with water, arranges paper, takes up a brush to record our time, our days, and we are given another life in those words.

guy gavriel kay

Early morning fog sneaking in, laying low, close to the rocky shore, hardly a ripple to be seen, not a seagull in sight; perhaps they slept in, or breakfast at a new sandbar…..oh, a mosquito at the window, on a Jupiter day.

wanderer