October Country

Photo

Thu, 04 Aug 2011 07:35:53 -0400

Photo

Fri, 27 May 2011 19:52:17 -0400

Photo

Wed, 27 Apr 2011 14:12:25 -0400

Photo

Sun, 24 Apr 2011 09:33:18 -0400

Photo

Thu, 14 Apr 2011 08:40:19 -0400

Photo

Fri, 25 Mar 2011 10:15:40 -0400

Photo

Sat, 12 Mar 2011 09:41:40 -0500

hoodoothatvoodoo: Ray Bradbury ‘The Halloween Tree’ original...

Sun, 20 Feb 2011 09:08:54 -0500

hoodoothatvoodoo:

Ray Bradbury ‘The Halloween Tree’ original oil painting 1960

Photo

Sat, 20 Nov 2010 15:15:36 -0500

Photo

Tue, 02 Nov 2010 09:11:49 -0400

Photo

Tue, 26 Oct 2010 12:44:19 -0400

eraseurhead: <3

Tue, 19 Oct 2010 23:16:18 -0400

eraseurhead:

<3

imperiousrex: Sad Peter Pumpkinhead | BLDG//WLF

Mon, 18 Oct 2010 22:57:41 -0400

imperiousrex:

Sad Peter Pumpkinhead | BLDG//WLF

Photo

Sat, 16 Oct 2010 11:37:10 -0400

To Autumn

Mon, 11 Oct 2010 00:04:00 -0400

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;

To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,

And still more, later flowers for the bees,

Until they think warm days will never cease,

For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?

Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find

Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,

Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;

Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,

Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook

Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:

And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep

Steady thy laden head across a brook;

Or by a cider-press, with patient look,

Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?

Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,-

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,

And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn

Among the river sallows, borne aloft

Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;

Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft

The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;

And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

-John Keats (born October 31, 1795)

Photo

Sat, 09 Oct 2010 16:07:52 -0400

timetowatchyouburn: pumpkinrot

Sat, 09 Oct 2010 11:02:17 -0400

timetowatchyouburn:

pumpkinrot

Photo

Fri, 08 Oct 2010 09:15:36 -0400

Photo

Tue, 28 Sep 2010 13:23:29 -0400

dethjunkie: undrnflnc

Fri, 24 Sep 2010 01:14:57 -0400

dethjunkie:

undrnflnc