drenches

Storm Witch Tip:

A storm is likely to come when:

  • deciduous trees flip their leaves due to wind direction
  • birds fly low in the sky, and go quiet
  • there’s a southerly wind (in the US)
  • there’s a red dawn in the east
  • layers of nimbus clouds move in opposite directions
  • the morning grass is dry of dew
  • an earthy scent rises from the soil and flowers
  • pine cones remain closed
  • a halo rings the moon at night
  • nights are warm in winter (cloud cover insulation)
  • smoke swirls and descends, instead of a steady rise

Remember, low pressure brings wet weather.

anonymous asked:

Hey, I just saw that you listed Hemingway's The Garden of Eden as one of your essential summer reads. Could you please recommend me something that is also worth reading and still in this 'sicilian summer' mood?

  • domnica radulescuI, “train to trieste”: I like to think of myself as a naiad walking dreamily on the burning sands
  • normandi ellis (trans), "adoration of ra”: they are drunk with sun and singing / this is the terror inherent in love
  • virginia woolf, “the waves”: oh, this is pain, this is anguish! I faint, I fail. now my body thaws; I am unsealed, I am incandescent.
  • elin hilderbrand, “summer people”: summer does something to the brain; it’s intoxicating. everything shimmers.
  • antonia quirke, “the pick of palermo”: you can feel this grief in the churches […] in Palermo they love nothing more than a stricken Jesus.
  • ariel and chana bloch (trans), “song of songs”: we will laugh, you and I, and count / each kiss, / better than wine.
  • odysseas elytis, “marina on the rocks”: you have a taste of tempest on your lips / and a dress red as blood / in the gold of summer
  • hélène cixous, “love of the wolf”: love abjures in order to be adored. it burns in your breast and the world is burned.
  • any euripides translated by anne carson; “bakkhai”: swoony type, / long hair, bedroom eyes, cheeks like wine + “iphigenia among the taurians”: I shall wash / blood with blood
  • henry miller, “the colossus of maroussi”: we were in the dead center of that soft silence which absorbs even the breathing of gods
  • sylvia plath, “the unabridged journals”: read, write, sun, and swim; oh, to live like this.

its au time you sons of hecks

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