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“I believe in kindness. Also in mischief.”
―
―
“West Wind #2
You are young. So you know everything. You leap
into the boat and begin rowing. But listen to me.
Without fanfare, without embarrassment, without
any doubt, I talk directly to your soul. Listen to me.
Lift the oars from the water, let your arms rest, and
your heart, and heart’s little intelligence, and listen to
me. There is life without love. It is not worth a bent
penny, or a scuffed shoe. It is not worth the body of a
dead dog nine days unburied. When you hear, a mile
away and still out of sight, the churn of the water
as it begins to swirl and roil, fretting around the
sharp rocks – when you hear that unmistakable
pounding – when you feel the mist on your mouth
and sense ahead the embattlement, the long falls
plunging and steaming – then row, row for your life
toward it.”
― West Wind
You are young. So you know everything. You leap
into the boat and begin rowing. But listen to me.
Without fanfare, without embarrassment, without
any doubt, I talk directly to your soul. Listen to me.
Lift the oars from the water, let your arms rest, and
your heart, and heart’s little intelligence, and listen to
me. There is life without love. It is not worth a bent
penny, or a scuffed shoe. It is not worth the body of a
dead dog nine days unburied. When you hear, a mile
away and still out of sight, the churn of the water
as it begins to swirl and roil, fretting around the
sharp rocks – when you hear that unmistakable
pounding – when you feel the mist on your mouth
and sense ahead the embattlement, the long falls
plunging and steaming – then row, row for your life
toward it.”
― West Wind
“I had a dog
who loved flowers.
Briskly she went
through the fields,
yet paused
for the honeysuckle
or the rose,
her dark head
and her wet nose
touching
the face
of every one
with its petals
of silk
with its fragrance
rising
into the air
where the bees,
their bodies
heavy with pollen
hovered -
and easily
she adored
every blossom
not in the serious
careful way
that we choose
this blossom or that blossom
the way we praise or don't praise -
the way we love
or don't love -
but the way
we long to be -
that happy
in the heaven of earth -
that wild, that loving.”
―
who loved flowers.
Briskly she went
through the fields,
yet paused
for the honeysuckle
or the rose,
her dark head
and her wet nose
touching
the face
of every one
with its petals
of silk
with its fragrance
rising
into the air
where the bees,
their bodies
heavy with pollen
hovered -
and easily
she adored
every blossom
not in the serious
careful way
that we choose
this blossom or that blossom
the way we praise or don't praise -
the way we love
or don't love -
but the way
we long to be -
that happy
in the heaven of earth -
that wild, that loving.”
―
Çağla’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at Çağla’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
438 books
|
156 friends
190 books
|
164 friends
425 books
|
50 friends
297 books
|
70 friends
243 books
|
126 friends
328 books
|
114 friends
356 books
|
145 friends
162 books
|
140 friends
More friends…
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