10.17

Whoever (whomever?) doesn't walk around this country with a constant expression of awe and amazement must have had their eyes pecked out by ravens as a child.

Or, perhaps, their hearts.

10.16

This is what I want my front garden to look like when I grow up (especially all the cutey litle chickens!)

Except I'm not sure about the pig. Look. It's standing next to a cow. As in bovine creature. And it's not even that much smaller. Terrifyinggggg.

10.15

Wait, hold on. What are you doing on my road, Mr. Sheep? Don't stare at me like that. It's not polite.

Oh, it's your road. I see. Sincerest apologies.

I heart the country.

10.14

I want to move here and live in the hills and have chickens and goats and never type another key stroke again. I want to write, I want to run mercilessly, I want to get lost. I want to detach, to be forgotten for a while and to understand man's place in the forest and field and sky and sea.

Only the Davsters can come. And maybe my piano. And Shakespeare. BUT THAT'S IT.

10.13

Is there anything lovelier?

10.12

See, I knew I was still half asleep when I first looked at this -- I thought the lights at the bottom were supposed to be fire, and it just seemed like an awfully cruel piece to be outside the printer's parking lot (think less dancing/more falling into a fiery abyss)

10.11

Pretty pastels. <3 cheap Thursday pick-me-ups.