Trumpet sleeves and bell sleeves will probably die as a trend in the next year or so, but it’s one of those styles I’ve loved forever…
I am not a poet. For the life of me I can’t hear meters, even if I read if for hours knowing what it is.
Contrary to her reasonable nature, Stranger had kept count of the months since she had gone to find the island in the mist.
Tuesday marked my first year of blogging, and it has been a crazy year.
I started out strictly as a style blog, taking pictures indoor against a wall because I was too weak to go outside…
Sender was returning home and decided to take the short cut.
She had just returned Herb Gardens for Beginners to Mrs. Potters, the elderly garden enthusiast who lived a block and a street away.
Stranger left for the dock early in the morning. It was the time when the mist was the thickest, when the island would show… if it were there.
During my blogging hiatus I spent a lot of time exploring my personal style and understanding what exactly I thought it was.
Wind. Invisible, ever moving. It tramples trees and dances with dandelions. We know the wind. We see the wind. But we can never catch it.