foolish fearless

Michaela. Seventeen. Studying to be a veterinarian. I fit very snugly in a pocket of the universe that sounds like classical music and apples bumping together. I love God and my significant other very much. I make annual return journeys to the Shire and never miss a good breakfast. One part moonchild, one part sea-dweller, with the heart of a burning star.

this blog harbours: delicious fruit, comfy beds, personal posts, the moon, my doodles, architecture, favourite songs, nature, plants, cool rooms, my face, my writing, and so much more. There's also an about me if you're interested.

When we were children words were coloured
(Harlot and murder were dark purple)
And language was a prism, the light
A conjured inlay on the grass,
Whose rays today are concentrated
And language grown a burning-glass.

Louis MacNeice, When we were Children (via covert-complicity)
(Source: hospitablemedium)

origin: hospitablemedium // via: czarinna 14 notes

ofaquietmind reblogged this from czarinna
czarinna reblogged this from hospitablemedium
languagelinguistics reblogged this from hospitablemedium
paperlesswords liked this
joshuarobertlong liked this
hospitablemedium posted this

foolish fearless

When we were children words were coloured (Harlot and murder were dark purple) And language was a prism, the light A conjured inlay on the grass, Whose rays today are concentrated And language grown a burning-glass.

Louis MacNeice, When we were Children (via covert-complicity)(Source: hospitablemedium)

When we were children words were coloured
(Harlot and murder were dark purple)
And language was a prism, the light
A conjured inlay on the grass,
Whose rays today are concentrated
And language grown a burning-glass.

Louis MacNeice, When we were Children (via covert-complicity)
(Source: hospitablemedium)