Kaikea Blakemore

“was seven o'clock of a very warm evening in the Seeonee hills when Father Wolf woke up from his day's rest, scratched himself, yawned, and spread out his paws one after the other to get rid of the sleepy feeling in their tips. Mother Wolf lay with her big gray nose dropped across her four tumbling, squealing cubs, and the moon shone into the mouth of the cave where they all lived. "Augrh!" said Father Wolf. "It is time to hunt again." He was going to spring down hill when a little shadow with a bushy tail crossed the threshold and whined: "Good luck go with you, O Chief of the Wolves. And good luck and strong white teeth go with noble children that they may never forget the hungry in this world." It was the jackal—Tabaqui, the Dish-licker—and the wolves of India”
― Rudyard Kipling, The Jungle Book

“Great laughter rang from all sides. I wondered what the Spirit of the Mountain was thinking, and looked up and saw jackpines in the moon, and saw ghosts of old miners, and wondered about it. IN the whole eastern dark wall of the Divide this night there was silence and the whisper of the wind, except in the ravine where we roared; and on the other side of the Divide was the great Western Slope, and the big plateau that went to Steamboat Springs, and dropped, and led you to the western Colorado desert and the Utah desert; all in darkness now as we fumed and screamed in our mountain nook, mad drunken Americans in the mighty land. We were on the roof of America and all we could do was yell, I guess.”
― Jack Kerouac, On the Road

“In spring, hundred of flowers;
In autumn, a harvest moon
In summer, a refreshing breeze;
In winter, snow will you accompany you.
If useless things do not hang in your mind,
Any season is good season for you.”
― Wumen Huikai, The Gateless Gate: The Classic Book of Zen Koans

“Again, the filet bows to the lily.
Again, the rose is tearing off her gown...
The bud is shy, but the wind removes
her veil suddenly, 'My friend!'...
And the cove to the willow, 'You are the one I hope for..."
The ringdove comes asking, 'Where,
where is the Friend?"...
Again, the season of Spring has come
And a spring-source rises under everything,
A moon sliding from the shadows.
Many things must be left unsaid because it's late, but whatever conversation we haven't had tonight, we'll have tomorrow.”
― Rumi