Becoming hurts.
Kat HowardTags: truth transformation beautiful-writing
The sun was trembling on the brink of the world, the shadows at their longest, and they still had several kilometers to go.
John FlanaganTags: beautiful-writing
In the bush he taught the knots I use to tie my blanket to my saddle Ds also the way I stand to use a carpenter's plane and the trick of catching fish with a bush fly and a strip of greenhide these things are like the dark marks made in the rings of great trees locked forever in my daily self.
Peter CareyTags: beautiful-writing tree-rings
Holy and pure are the drops that fall, When the young bride goes from her father's hall; She goes unto love yet untried and new— She parts from love which hath still been true.
Martha FinleyTags: beautiful-writing
I suppose you think you know what autumn looks like. Even if you live in the Los Angeles dreamed of by September’s schoolmates, you have surely seen postcards and photographs of the kind of autumn I mean. The trees go all red and blazing orange and gold, and wood fires burn at night so everything smells of crisp branches. The world rolls about delightedly in a heap of cider and candy and apples and pumpkins and cold stars rush by through wispy, ragged clouds, past a moon like a bony knee. You have, no doubt, experienced a Halloween or two.
Autumn in Fairyland is all that, of course. You would never feel cheated by the colors of a Fairyland Forest or the morbidity of a Fairyland moon. And the Halloween masks! Oh, how they glitter, how they curl, how their beaks and jaws hook and barb! But to wander through autumn in Fairyland is to look into a murky pool, seeing only a hazy reflection of the Autumn Provinces’ eternal fall. And human autumn is but a cast-off photograph of that reflecting pool, half burnt and drifting through the space between us and Fairyland.
And so I may tell you that the leaves began to turn red as September and her friends rushed through the suddenly cold air on their snorting, roaring high wheels, and you might believe me. But no red you have ever seen could touch the crimson bleed of the trees in that place. No oak gnarled and orange with October is half as bright as the boughs that bent over September’s head, dropping their hard, sweet acorns into her spinning spokes. But you must try as hard as you can. Squeeze your eyes closed, as tight as you can, and think of all your favorite autumns, crisp and perfect, all bound up together like a stack of cards. That is what it is like, the awful, wonderful brightness of Fairy colors. Try to smell the hard, pale wood sending up sharp, green smoke into the afternoon. To feel to mellow, golden sun on your skin, more gentle and cozier and more golden than even the light of your favorite reading nook at the close of the day.
Tags: nature fall autumn beautiful-writing
Pale as a candle flame in the dusk, tallow-pale, he stalked along, holding her hand, and Louie looked up and beyond him at the enfeebled stars. Thus, for many years, she had seen her father's head, a ghostly earth flame against the heavens, from her little height. Sam looked down on the moon of her face; the dayshine was enough still to light the eyeballs swimming up to him.
Christina SteadTags: beautiful-writing
Lua and Marie are holding hands.
They look like they’re so happy, just inside this moment, watching the kids and the lights on their old fibro house.
Lua kisses her.
Just softly on the lips.
And she kisses back.
Sometimes people are beautiful.
Not in looks.
Not in what they say.
Just in what they are.
Tags: beautiful-writing
And I howled at that swarm and the crops and the sky, and the stars should have quit because there weren't no reason to be shining.
Chris HowardTags: prose beautiful-writing
The whistle dropped from the branch's spindly fingers like a black cocoon, a pendulum of secret music; the wind pushed sound soundlessly around.
Karen RussellTags: beautiful-writing
He starts to hum, a haunting melody. No words ride the music, only the familiar notes of a forgotten song.
A.G. HowardTags: beautiful-imagery beautiful-writing
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