Posted by dailycoyote

colorwash2017W
photos taken August 2017

The ordering window for The Daily Coyote: Ten Years will close
FOREVER as soon as the book goes to press, which could be as early as next Monday!

If you would like to have the book, please place your order ASAP,
which you can do HERE! There will not be any other chance
to get this book once the ordering window closes. This is it!



#homecooked noms - Madhur Jaffrey’s Tamil style stir-fried eggplant (bonus capsicum because i was using this as a sole dish) with yogurt relish. I ground my own spices for this! http://ift.tt/2gB3Xgq

([syndicated profile] ao3_frodosam_fics_feed Sep. 17th, 2017 01:51 am)

Posted by <a rel="author" href="/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka">yeaka</a>

by

Maybe Frodo went through a Malkovich door.

Words: 1065, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English



3.9.17 like a lot of things in my life, tea-and-ya Sundays would be improved if they involved @k_loulee . Still pretty good though. http://ift.tt/2gAmIka



2.9.17 September means more opportunities to embrace the #dresslikeacouch aesthetic! And to break out the collared shirts from @tmlewin http://ift.tt/2ePtkHJ

Even barely enough light to find a mouth,
and bless both with a meaningless O, teaches,
spells out. The way a curtain opened at night
lets in neon, or moon, or a car’s hasty glance,
and paints for a moment someone you love, pierces.

And so many mornings to learn; some
when the day is wrung from damp, grey skies
and rooms come on for breakfast
in the town you are leaving early. The way
a wasteground weeps glass tears at the end of a
 street.

Some fluent, showing you how the trees
in the square think in birds, telepathise. The way
the waiter balances light in his hands, the coins
in his pocket silver, and a young bell shines
in its white tower ready to tell.

Even a saucer of rain in a garden at evening
speaks to the eye. Like the little fires
from allotments, undressing in veils of mauve smoke
as you walk home under the muted lamps,
perplexed. The way the shy stars go stuttering on.

And at midnight, a candle next to the wine
slurs its soft wax, flatters. Shadows
circle the table. The way all faces blur
to dream of themselves held in the eyes.
The flare of another match. The way everything dies.



1.9.17 - I’m very much not a fan of summer ending but at least it’s cool enough to crochet and there’s new figure skating to be watched http://ift.tt/2xDW8dW



31.8.17 I may have been crying over #auspol marriage discourse in the middle of the afternoon but I can report @borealcoffee made their brownies even fudgier for the occasion! http://ift.tt/2euTpyY

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