Friday, January 29, 2016

// project: book cover //

Thought I'd share this project I did this afternoon.... I used THIS tutorial to cover a book( the only difference with a softcover is that you trim the tabs at the spine instead of tucking them in.) Then I used acrylics to paint the design. I did a layout sketch first, I really did, but I messed up somewhere and so the letters aren't centered. Next time I'll be more careful:) The horse and lettering was free-handed. Anyways, I hope to try to share more creative/art/etc. posts here as time goes on... also, I'd love to have guest posts if anyone's interested (and can walk me through how to do that;)

 And, you should read this book. Even though it has an ugly original cover in the current paperback edition:) It's simple and lovely and set in Italy... It's one of those horse books you read as a kid but then actually continue to like. Marguerite Henry was one of, if not my favorite authors when I was little and liked horses. And although I don't love horses now(actually I'm a little scared of them, but still love to paint them) and like other author better, her books still hold a special place in my heart.

p.s. if you're on Instagram, prepare to be disappointed by mine- it's all art and I'm still working towards what I want my aesthetic to be. My sister, however, has artsy photography so if you're looking for that vibe, check her out @rynd01

Wednesday, January 27, 2016

// i would believe in magic //

via pinterest

// i would believe in magic
if i didn't know there was Something Greater //

Tuesday, January 26, 2016

// perhaps //

via pinterest
Many people say he's plain- well, perhaps he is.

 But then, perhaps they've never seen the way his eyes flash when his face lights up with that smile of his. His smile- it's like a sudden flash of lightening across a stormy summer sky. Powerful, more than a little dangerous- but so wildly beautiful.

And they have never heard the way his voice can roll, like the sea. Gentle at times, fierce at times, but always so deep and and sure.

 Perhaps they don't see it because he doesn't show them... or perhaps he doesn't show them because they wouldn't see.

But I do. And so, I can never think him plain.

xxx I wrote this a while back. It is not about anyone specific, if you're wondering. just a muse I guess. xxx

Wednesday, January 20, 2016

// you say you want to be alone //

via pinterest
you say you want to be alone.

but i watch you
and i've seen your sad eyes watching others

and i think you don't want to be alone at all

you've just convinced yourself you should be.

after all it is easiest
not quite so frightening

but then if a lifetime alone
all alone
isn't scary
i don't know what is

you're not so very old you know
and you should believe the mirror that tells you you're pretty still

i saw you the other day
when that gentleman walked by you on the street
he looked at you and smiled
and your cheeks flamed just like roses
and you smiled back

you really are pretty

we girls all think so.
you have no idea
we all look at you when you go by
in your pretty plain dress
and secretly wish we were faded and mysterious
and sad
just for a day, to try it out

folks say we young are fools
in love, in life
but the old are fools too
in love and in life

for they often let them drift by
to show us how much better it would be to be wise

but is it more foolish to make a mistake
or to prudently shake your head
or just to pick a nosegay because

flowers are young too
and they share our knowledge
that your beauty doesn't have to die when color does

open your window
open your door
take a step outside
look across the street to the park

did you play here too?
i wonder.
the roses are blooming in the city garden
walk a little farther
take a look.

the gentleman from the other day is here too.
he walks here often.
he does love roses.

they have a scent and warmth
he misses in the office sounds
and drab colors
of his paper world.

does he want to be alone?

or did he, maybe, come walking
looking for those roses again
like you came looking for
a paper poem.

we are all fools
in love, in life
old and young

but there are times when
the greatest wisdom is
 what some call folly,
and the truly wise know is
anything but.

xxx i think i write more to excavate my own psyche more than anything else. oh well. if you like the diggings well enough to read them maybe you can forge them into some sort of shovel to help dig you out too. or just enjoy them for face value since maybe that's all they really are. who knows. xxx

Thursday, January 14, 2016

// paralyzed by thoughts //

via pinterest

O the agony of being paralyzed
by your own thoughts! To be always
thinking, thinking, of all that should and
could be done, yet stricken by fear of
failure or effort, never doing anything
at all!!
October 14 2015

Tuesday, January 12, 2016

// doubts //

I wish I could get rid of it.
The vague sense of uneasiness
The tiny whisper inside that
no matter what I'm doing
it's wrong.

I'm wrong.

And when it grows into a persistent murmur 
that everything's wrong
and I have everything backwards
My thoughts go double and start
to spin.

Is what I believe a vapor,
instead of a rock?
Is the world right?
Can my God be trusted?

Is He even there?

Of course these doubts can't stand
but they turn my stomach,
it sinks like the gaze of a guilty criminal
and sometimes it sinks so low
that the windows of my soul
seem dark and streaked with freezing rain
that sometimes turn to burning tears 
on my cheeks.

But this too shall pass.

Rosy sunshine will disperse the dark.
That vague sense of uneasiness 
retreats for the moment.

And my Savior seems so close
and so trustworthy.

Maybe even close to as trustworthy as He is.

And though I can't get rid of it
(that vague sense of my own uneasiness)
Maybe it's not a bad thing.
Maybe these whispers are in there for a reason.

Because if you have no doubts,
you can  walk on water yourself.
But when the doubts begin to drown you,
Jesus puts out His wounded hands
and pulls you into His safety.

Where else should I want to be?

written September 13, 2015

Saturday, January 9, 2016

//untitled story //

 abi and willa stood in miss ferns doorway, staring at her with wide eyes. abi's lower lip was quivering slightly and willas face was flushed with quiet fury.

'now get along out of here, both of you. i tell you i wont teach no dark girl.' miss ferns round face was angry and spiteful, as she glared over her pointed glasses. without a word, willa grabbed abi's moist hand and pulled her out the door. 

they didn't stop until they reached the park. abi was sniffling but with the braveness that typified her family, she was managing to hold back tears. willa slammed into the seat of one of the swings and began pumping back and forth with a vengeance. the full skirt of her pink cotton dress billowed with the wind. abi stood watching and waiting for her best friend. after a moment, willa dragged her feet to come to an abrupt halt. she studied abi for a second.

'i will never, never NEVER take another piano lesson from her.' she declare quietly. abi shook her head.

'willa, you can't say that. you love the piano so much.' she reminded her, her voice soft and singsong. willa stared into abi's face. she hopped off the swing and walked over to wipe one tear from her chocolaty skin. abi tried to smile. willa suddenly smiled too.

'i will show her. just wait.'

* * *

willa's mother was furious, possibly even more than willa herself. she didn't want willa to go back to miss ferns house again. but willa had changed her mind. to her piano lesson she would go.

she walked into the piano room, her head high and her lips pressed together. her golden auburn curls were topped with a big blue bow, to match her dress. miss fern seemed to have forgotten the incident, sitting in her normal pompous spot in a cushioned chair beside the piano. her floral daydress was buttoned up her ample front and her hands folded across her lap. willa didn't say a word as she set her book on the piano. then she began to play. after a few notes everything sounded discordant and off key. she continued to play, a little smile on her lips.

'that's enough willa, what in the world?' miss fern ordered. 'why aren't you playing any of the sharps or flats?'

'i'm not using any black keys.'

'why on earth not?'

'i'm only using the white keys.' willa turned and looked miss fern right in the eye. 'they must be better since they're white.' 

miss fern went white. she looked about to slap willa, but willa didn't flinch. she just kept staring at the old lady, her blue eyes calm and steady. after a long moment, miss fern took a deep, shaking breath.

'your lesson is done.' she whispered. willa rose and took her books. she walked to the doorway, then turned around.

'the color of someones skin doesn't change who they are or how important they are anymore that it does the piano keys. and you need every last one of them to make a song. you need every last one to make music.' 

then she walked out the door without another backward look.

the end

xxx i've had this idea floating around for a while... i may develop it further someday, i don't know. it's supposed to be set in the 1960s, i don't know if i was able to get that across in this short of a piece.
racism makes me so mad, it's so utterly

Friday, January 8, 2016

// song + story //

The sky is dark, although the stars are fading and a stain of light indigo is beginning to seep up from the horizon. I'm walking, alone, through the woods. Down the road that once led straight to the heart of town. My town.

And remembering. Remembering everything.

The freezing rain that slices across my face doesn't hurt half as much as your tears did. "Never let me go."

I had to, darling, I had to.

The lacework of trees begin to thin and the first blackened heap appears ahead of me. The first house.
Razed to the ground. 

I pause, staring at it like a fascinated child. My mind says to keep going but this time my feet don't obey. Suddenly, as the charred beams settle, a piece crumbles, sounding empty in the silence. It startles me, bad. My whole  body tenses and my heart starts racing. Despite the rain, I can feel hot sweat begin to break out on my chest and forehead. I turn and start walking again. The rain gets harder and I blink it away. The sky is crying harder than anyone today. It blurs what I can see but it can't erase what I knew I'd find. I move, almost as if I'm dreaming, down the middle of the road. Everything is black. The bank, the granary, the milliners. Everything is empty.

 You asked me not to leave you here alone- now look at me. I only wish I could be where you are.

 As I pass the granary I look to the side when my eye catches sight of a familiar shape sprawled beside the road. I've seen too many bodies now for it to shake me too much, at least it seems it should be so. But every time it's a little different. This time I just move on. Part of me wishes I were there instead. Instead of walking, breathing, reluctantly living. For what? I close my eyes, the darkness making little difference for I can feel everything around me. My fighter instincts are saying 'open your eyes, fool, keep alert.'

Alert? Why? No one can hurt me now.

But I open them anyways,as I come to a halt. I stare upwards. It had escaped total destruction, only partially burned out. The once white siding is smoke-damaged, and one window is shattered.

I put my hand out to take the doorknob. As my fingers, shivering and red, touch it's dusky surface, it happens again.

* * *
Lily turned as if to go to the window. I reach out, pulling her back, dragging her across the room to where her little bed sits against the wall. 

"Don't you dare look out your window," I say, as she looks at me, scared and confused. I sit down with her on my lap and hug her to my chest. "Darling, everything's on fire." 

The flickering glow in the window, yellow and tangible on the wall, tell me the blaze is getting closer. I can feel her little body shaking as the screams outside continue. They pierce the air in audible silhouettes against the static, animal roar of the inferno outside our door. As she begins to cry, a thin wail that builds as something- or someone- crashes against our door with a dull thud. I begin to sing mamma's lullaby, as bravely as I can.

 After a moment her sobs subside, as they always will with this song. Somehow, after a moment, she falls asleep, as though defying the terror closing in with the peace of slumber. As I sing through the song one last time, I hold her close, then lay her down. With one motion I grab my bow, and fling myself out the door. I hear it slam behind me as I half fall down the steps to the front door and plunge outside.

The horror that surrounds me fills my eyes, burning with more than just the unbearable heat from the bonfire of buildings in every direction. I try to step forward but my foot catches against something. I look down. Across the doorstep sprawls a black uniformed guerrilla, face downward and motionless. I clasp my hand to my mouth and look back up, trying to steady myself. Without looking back down, I step over him- it- and walk to the middle of the street. I try to look every where at once, to process what's around me and fathom how to react. Without meaning to I have my bow up, an arrow seeming to spring on it's own to the string. Every muscle tenses. I hear a yell behind me, I turn as they release-

* * *
I lean against the doorway, shaking, trying to cover my ears, to block it out. As the flames fade, I realized my nails have driven into my palms. Thankfully my nails are gnawed too short to cut in, but it stings all the same. I welcome the pain though, it jerks me a little toward true reality. 

As I walk up the stairs, one by one, it feels more like this is the dream. The space around me feels like a doubtful mist. Any moment the nightmare could return. I unconsciously test each step, to make sure the boards are true. They groan, like they always have, but somehow my house had managed to survive. Like me.

 I slip into the room and shut the door behind me. I lean against it, closing my eyes again. Then I push my self forward, forcing myself into motion. Like when I was young, a few months ago or so, and we would swim at the gym. You reach the edge, you can't go any farther- and then you push off the edge, back into continued momentum.

I feel the floor under my feet, the only thing connecting me to the earth. I kneel and lift it from the floor. Her doll. It's dented nose, the chunk of hair chopped off, the pen along its eyelids. It's still the same. Still here. As I sit on my heels, staring at it, I feel the tears coming, like the sting of smoke but from behind my eyes. I stare into the pieces of empty glass in the dolls face. My tears fall into them, giving it my sadness.

You're safe now.


This was inspired by Jackie Evancho's new single, Safe and Sound. It's a song from the Hunger Games, which I haven't watched, so I apologize if the story is too similar to the movie. My sister and I make up music videos/stories to go with songs we like and I thought it might be good to actually write one down:) 

I might try to do it monthly, what do you think? Song + story Saturday (I love alliteration). I could even take song suggestions.  (I realize this isn't Saturday but by the time most see this it will be so.) anyways let me know in the comments! 

Thursday, January 7, 2016

// philosophers & fools //

// we are philosophers and sages.

we stare to the sky, begging the stars for our futures 
& thinking about the way we will change it

& we are idiots and fools

 for we do not look past the sky, and the silent singing stars
we believe our future is our own and that we are the future

we believe that is all there is to life //

via pinterest

Tuesday, January 5, 2016

// haikus #15-#22

the first of the year
new chances, new questions and


cold glitter of ice
blue shadows on fresh white snow
crossed with rabbit tracks


how i do wish
i could find my kindle cord
there are things to read :(


coat of black velvet
eyes like twin orbs, glowing bright
hunter prowls at night

{photo credit to my sister ryn, @rynd01 on instagram. these are the
flowers i was looking at when i wrote the haiku}


Once bright with color
now faded from early hues
but beauty remains  


back, front and middle
here you look, you find, knowledge
black on white pages


gone to win the world
but my love is not for sale
offer all in vain


bitter promises
buttoned up to my chin, came
undone with one smile


mom gave me a little mini journal for christmas and i think i'm going to use it mainly for haikus. so here's the haikus i've written in it so far (i've done a couple other things too but i'm not posting them.) the 'bitter promises' one is edited from the journal version, it didn't make as much sense originally.

Friday, January 1, 2016

// this year //

via pinterest

biting my nails. good grief they are practically to the bone.

hmm... there are several but my first thought is that i want to get some copic markers. also yoga.

a person- erin hanson. i mean in the creative/awesomeness department. i try not to want to be like anyone else(but Jesus) but she does inspire me.
i'm not sure yet, but i want to try to(in the words of miss rumphius) 'make the world more beautiful'
downtown portland, maine. or at least downtown bangor(aiming realistically here.)

'to kill a mockingbird' and more c.s. lewis(i just got an anthology wheee) and just more in general
?? we'll see. i don't have one in mind but now i want to,

a new food? i don't know. i want to eat sushi at the moment. i should try to stat cooking more. 

living:) being nicer, procrastinating less(yeah right) extending my horizons.

                              so, do you have anything on this list you want to do in the new year? or maybe it inspires you? i don't                        know. maybe it's just fun to make lists. it makes you feel so productive without actually having to do anything.