field pigeon

10

Nascì e canusci l’azzurro e tu eri l’azzurru du mari, densu, caudu, immensu; tu eri l’azzurru du cielu ,ghiaru, infinitu, liggeru , io era comi n’isula nica nica e spidduta truvava paci e amuri, si o to mari mi strincia, si mi dubbava di baci da so spuma, e amava i carizzi di so unni.
Nascì e tu eri l’azzurru infinitu e immensu unni u me cori s’apria e nto ventu bulava, felici
Nascì e canusci u giallu  e tu eri u giallu dumatu du ciuri i inestra, u giallu duratu di ciuri i zammaruni, l’oru infinitu di campi i ranu ommai sicchi  unni bolanu i palummi e i merri, ciccannu nta pagghia l’uttima semenza. Tu eri u giallu sabbaggiu du zuffuru u to cori nfucatu d’unni u mei nasciu.
Nascì e tu eri u giallu dumatu e sabbaggiu d’ unni u me cori nasciu e vessu u suli bulava felici.
Jo nasci e caniusci u russu  e tu eri u russu du curallu rubbatu nto silenziu du funnu du mari tu eri u russu sabbaggiu da lava  chi nasci nto funnu da terra, tu si u russu di campi chini i ciura unni a natura cumanna e ventu e suli, brucianu, sdirupanu, regnanu
Nascì e tu eri u russu passioni e re, cu me cori cumannava e vistia i sula filicità.
Nascì e m’inzignai i culura, ma di culuri, tu mi nzignasti u sensu, chi ogni sfumatura avia, mi zignasti l’amuri chi ogni culuri mi dava. Cu sti culuri vistii l’anima mia e straviai pu munnu sulu pi ristari sempri cu tia

Sono nato è ho conosciuto l’azzurro e tu eri l’azzurro del mare, denso, caldo, immenso, tu eri l’azzurro del cielo, chiaro, infinito, leggero, io ero come una piccola isola e sperduta trovavo pace e amore se il tuo mare mi stringeva, si mi nutrivo con i baci della sua schiuma e amavo le carezze delle sue onde.
Sono nato e tu eri l’azzurro infinito e immenso dove il mio cuore si apriva nel vento e volava, felice.
Sono nato e ho conosciuto il giallo, e tu eri il giallo acceso dei fiori di ginestra, il giallo dorato dei fiori dell’agave, l’oro infinito dei campi di grano ormai secchi dove volano colombi e merli cercando nella paglia gli ultimi semi. Tu eri il giallo selvaggio dello zolfo, il tuo cuore infuocato da dove il mio è nato.
Sono nato e tu eri il giallo acceso e selvaggio da dove il mio cuore è nato mentre verso il sole volava felice.
Sono nato e ho conosciuto il rosso, e tu eri il rosso del corallo rubato nel silenzio in fondo al mare, tu eri il rosso selvaggio della lava che nasci in fondo alla terra, tu sei il rosso dei campi pieni di fiori dove la natura comanda e vento e sole bruciano, rovesciano, regnano.
Sono nato e tu eri il rosso passione e sovrano che il mio cuore comanda e che vestiva di felicità
Sono nato è ho imparato i colori, ma dei colori, tu mi hai insegnato il senso che ogni sfumatura aveva, mi hai insegnato l’amore che ogni colore mi dava, e con loro ho vestito l’anima mia e mi sono involato per il mondo, solo per restare per sempre con te.

I was born and I knew the blue and you were the blue of the sea, dense, hot, immense, you were the blue of the sky, clear, infinite, light, I was like a small lost island and I found peace and love only if your sea tightened me, I fed myself with the kisses of her foam and I loved the caresses of her waves.
I was born and you were the infinite and immense blue where my heart opened in the wind and flew, happy.
I was born and I knew the yellow, and you were the yellow of the broom flowers, the golden yellow of the flowers of the agave, the endless gold of the wheat fields now dried where pigeons flew and drifting in the straw the last seeds. You were the wild yellow of sulfur, your fiery heart from where my own was born.
I was born and you were the wild and wild yellow from where my heart was born while in the sun was happy.    I was born and I knew the red, and you were red coral stole in the silence at the bottom of the sea, you were the wild red of the lava that is born to the bottom of the earth, you are the red of fields full of flowers where nature commands and wind and sun burn, overthrow, reign.    I was born and you were the red sovereign passion, that my heart commanded and who dressed me with happiness.    I was born, I learned the colors, but you taught me the meaning that every nuance has, you taught me the love that every color gave me, and with them I dressed my soul and I went for the world, just to stay with you forever.

June Book Photo Challenge: 14 - Book Haul - So I buy books when I am stressed. Thank goodness for Half-Priced Books and baby toes. Nom.

first impressions

In which Calum makes a grave mistake. 

can you do a imagine where he accidentally makes you self concious but he takes it back later? :c


“How’d you meet her then?” One of the boys asked, a smile wrapped around his face as they sat around the sofas donned in the living room of the house. You were listening in from the hallway, where you’d excused yourself a few minutes ago to go to the toilet, but stopped as you heard them talking about you in your absence. “Was it one of those moments, you know? Wind in your hair, climactic soundtrack in the background, a spotlight only on her?” Laughter filled the room.

“No, I mean,” He shrugged. “I thought she was kind of plain at first.”

And that was when your heart dropped.  He continued to explain how you first met, a story he’d told again and again, to your parents, to his parents, to his sister, to your friends. You’d think it would have lost its appeal by now, but the moment remained a fond memory imprinted in your mind, even as your heart broke to hear that word.

Plain.

It might not have been an insult, but it surely wasn’t a compliment. No one wants to be plain, a nondescript black and white version of a person when they could be something spectacular, something that made you stand out, a unique bright sunshine radiance in a field of pigeons. But, no, your own boyfriend thought of you as plain, another one of those pigeons. He’d obviously grown to see what made you different than the rest in time, but the fact his first impression of you wasn’t like your first impression of him, made your feet drag a little and the forcing resemblance of a smile don your face as you entered into the room. Their conversation was cut short as you sat back down, proceeding into something else as you leaned into Calum’s arm like nothing had happened.

His hand caressed your shoulder as they talked on, although you noticeably contributed less. Your mind was racing, thinking about what Calum thought of you, if he thought you were plain at first, what else he thought, then. If you were ugly, or clingy, or complaining all the time. You questioned every word before it left your mouth and you manoeuvred your body so as to ensure that you were never at an unflattering angle to his eyes, or any of the boys’. It seemed pathetic to you, really, to try so hard, but your mind was convincing you that this was something you had to do, that if you didn’t Calum would never find you attractive, and any hope you had in a future with this boy would be out the window even at the faintest hint of a breeze. What a way to live, under such constructive criticism of yourself.

“Are you alright, babe?” He whispered in your ear.

“Yeah, fine.” You whispered back, a smile to reassure him everything was fine.

You kept up the act even as he dropped you off at your flat that night, giving you a kiss and a hug and a sweet goodnight.

This time, you didn’t ask him to stay.

He must’ve seen a little disheartened at that.

“Do you want me to come in for a while?” he asked.

“No, um, I’m really tired. I should, er, I should head in.”

“Are you alright, babe?” He whispered. Usually, you let him stay the night. Ever since the night you met you’d ben basically inseparable, and a night without him next to you was always cold and never as cosy as it would be if he occupied the sheets beside you, even if he stole them during the middle of the night in his unconsciousness. Even if he drooled and snored the whole night through, a night with him was better than the cold air of loneliness. “What happened? What’d I do?” His thumb trailed up to your cheek, rubbing against your jawline, a careless affectionate gesture. “I didn’t mean it, I swear. I’m so sorry.” But it wasn’t the same when he didn’t even know what he was apologising for.

“No, Calum, you’re fine, I promise.” You tried to reassure him with a smile. “I’m just exhausted, it’s been a long day. But it was really great meeting the boys and everything.”

“They really like you, you know. If that’s what you’re worried about. They love you, even, told me I should bring you around more often. Guess I should be a little worried, huh?” He huffed a laugh.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Cal.” You mumbled, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“Yeah, alright then.” He coughed. But even as you closed the door you could see the unsatisfied expression on his face. And maybe you had no right to say goodbye to him like that, but you couldn’t help the little hurt tin your chest, even from just being called plain. But the insecurity that came along with being involved with someone so important in media light was never easy, always intimidating, bringing inevitable feeling of insecurity, warping your head into some kind of idea that you have to be something you’re not, something you’ll never be, even if you invested your entire life into it.

And your night was just as you expected it to be - lonely, missing the joy and warmth of the boy who always occupied the space next to you, but with his absence left feelings of uneasiness and restlessness, as you stared up at the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling of your bedroom. You missed him beside you, pulling you close and whispering dirty jokes and bad chat-up lines in your ear. You looked at his toothbrush beside yours and you missed the way he’d brush his teeth next to you, making funny faces and getting minty foam all over his chin. Missed the way he’d hum as he made you tea, missed the way he’d jump on your bed and pull you up with him. Missed the way he’d snuggle up real tight in the covers and pull you close as if a raging tundra was blazing on in the world outside the duvet. And the most pathetic part was that it hadn’t even been an entire night without him.

It was sunrise before your eyes closed, even then, you woke up a few hours later, groaning from lack of sleep and eyes begging for a few seconds (or hours) more rest. Only Calum could be on your mind so early, only him and his messy hair and bedroom eyes and his unfaltering smile could enter into your mind, the first thing.

And your thumb found its way to his name in your phone, the little blue heart by his name as the phone rang.

“Baby?” His voice sounded out on the other end, tired and deep and raspy from the early hour.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, twiddling your fingers, the fluttering in your heart unstoppable as you heard Cal’s voice in your ear.

“I should be sorry,” He rasped. “I mean, I still don’t know what I did. But I’m still sorry.”

“I don’t know, I just,” You sighed. “Can you come over?”

“‘Course, yeah, I’ll be there in a second.”

Your mind was running as you waited for him, a little ashamed of your overreaction the night before, but wanting to see him just the same. You started a kettle in your impatience, the idea of tea seeming to calm your spirits just a little, before a mop of messy hair and pyjamas walked into your flat completely unannounced.

“Baby,” He mumbled. He looked like he’d just rolled right out of bed, and in fact he probably had. He pulled you close to him as he entered into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around your waist and his head on yours. “Missed you last night.”

You nodded into his shoulder.

“What happened?” He kissed your temple, back away for a moment but keeping his arms on yours.

“i just, I overheard you, calling me plain.” You whispered. “I don’t know, I freaked out. I thought you were bored of me.”

“Shit, fuck, babe, I’m so sorry.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I’m such a knob, god.”

“No, no, I just.” You shrugged. He pulled you close once again, resting his head on your shoulder.

“You’re not plain, baby, you’re anything but. You’re perfect.” He whispered. “Just, absolutely perfect…” He sighed. “I meant, I don’t know, I didn’t know you at first, you know? I thought…I don’t know what I thought.”

“That I was plain?” You suggested.

“No, no,” He huffed. “Fuck. Really dug myself a hole, huh?”

“Little bit.” You laughed, running your hands through his hair.

“Forgive me, kitten?” Your favourite pet name, the one that could always make you melt, in mere seconds.

“‘Course. I thought you were a fuckboy at first, so.” You shrugged, hiding a laugh into his shoulder as he gasped.

100 years ago today, Martha the last Passenger Pigeon passed away at Cincinnati Zoological Gardens. It is amazing to think that an animal once so abundant could so quickly go extinct.


© The Field Museum, GN85465_13, Photographer John Weinstein.

Passenger Pigeon (Ectopistes migratorius) diorama. Standing free case. Hall 21, Individual bird exhibit in case before dismantling. Documentation for Animal Kingdom exhibit preparation.

120 negative film

1990

Ashton Imagine: He Cooks Dinner

Author: Rhine

-

He didn’t do it often, and for good reason.

While he was talented behind his drums – twirling the worn sticks of wood around his deft fingers with a careless precision that he somehow managed – he was an absolute disaster behind the stove.

It wasn’t for a lack of effort, truly – he was completely dedicated, like he was towards everything he did for you.

When he announced that he wanted to have a date night with you and that he wanted to cook, you couldn’t help but to laugh.

Are you doubting my abilities?

You were, obviously – you could hardly forget the food poisoning incident the first time he tried to cook or the accidental salt/sugar mix up the second time or the completely overcooked, watery meal the third time – the list went on and on, really – but that wasn’t the point.

I doubt it’ll make a difference, Irwin.

And it really didn’t, because no matter what questionable – masterpiece – Ashton tried to make for you, you wouldn’t be able to truly taste it.

You thought it a little strange, but he thought it rather cute, really – a little challenge for him.

It was just an unlucky mix of vitamin deficiency that led to lack of taste somewhere in your system, and Ashton was on the constant pursuit that if he cooked something just right, he could unlock some magical vitamin cure to your deficiency.

It was sweet, how he put so much effort into his little meals for you – you’ll taste this one for sure, babe!

You don’t have the heart to tell him that a single meal will hardly be a magical cure, but you like watching him bustle around the kitchen with your apron stretched across his stocky torso, hair in a messy bun.

It didn’t hurt anyone – well, so long as he didn’t accidentally poison himself or set the house on fire.

You still can’t quite forget the flaming inferno of masterpiece number eight that sent the firemen over to your house.

He did say it was an accident and apologized, but the firemen were less than impressed and you were less than happy to have to throw away half of the now-burnt utensils around the kitchen.

I think the feeling of smoke clogging up my throat was the closest thing to tasting something in a while – I suppose you’re halfway there, sort of.

Does that mean I have to burn down the rest of the house to reach that victory lap?

You know what, I take that back.

It was a little routine now for the both of you – with Ashton leaving for his sporadic schedules, whenever he returned he’d announce some foreign dish that he heard of from his travels that he wanted to share with you.

And he’d be there in the kitchen – it looked so much more cramped when it was him and all of his broad-shouldered bustling there – with his scribbled recipes that he collected from all over the world.

I had this in Amsterdam, you’re going to love it – tomorrow’s Berlin, okay?

And while you could say with a definite certainty that Ashton was probably butchering these famous cultural foods, you thought it sweet that he’d put in so much effort into bringing something back with him for you, despite the little barrier in your experience.

No matter – you think you liked the process work more than the final result anyways.

You’d perch yourself on the couch, a book in hand or your laptop balancing on your knees, eyes flickering to his figure every now and then.

And you’d find that you spent more time watching Ashton than anything; how his curls fell past his eyes and how he’d hastily brush it behind his ears before resuming chopping with the intense concentration of a little boy trying his best to make everything just right.

You’d jump a little when things sizzled a little too loud – don’t worry babe they told me it was supposed to be like this there’s no need to hold on to the extinguisher for Pete’s sake – or sit up every time you heard a sharp swear from the kitchen, pots and pans clanging accented by the dull thuds of the sink.

You okay there Ash?

Just fine and peachy, love!

Okay but if you need help peeling –

I don’t need help, this is supposed to be for you!

You said that for the eleventh meal and then you nearly cut your finger off!

Nearly, love. It’s still quite attached to my hand, in case you haven’t noticed.

Well I nearly had a heart attack and I’d rather avoid that at all costs.

Don’t worry about me, babe. I’ll be done in ten.

And you’d sigh but settle back down, smiling a little to yourself at Ashton’s persistence.

You’re not even sure how Ashton manages to take a recipe and somehow have it turn out  – well, there’s a wide range of adjectives depending on what he tried to make, but the most predominant one would probably be inedible – but he tries and his effort is commendable despite the questionable outcome.

When he’s finally finished, he sways out of the kitchen with dishes balanced precariously in his hands – ta-da! – a proud smile on his lips despite the smears of sauce on his cheeks and forearms.

You’re not even going to ask about the parsley tangled in his unruly curls, but you make a mental note to comb through his hair when he eventually curls up with you on the couch as his stomach complains.

In all due time though. You know it’ll happen.

He sets the plates down on the table with a proud grin, taking a seat across from you, eyes surveying your reaction carefully.

You’re not sure what tonight’s meal is – noodles? Rice? A type of salad? Could be soup, for all you knew – but you smile back at Ashton nonetheless.

“It looks great, babe.”

“Really?”

“Yeah – I mean, it looks… cooked this time.”

He huffs indignantly, stray curls flying up as he pouts.

“That was one time.”

“Try one plus seven, Ash.”

“I’m still learning, okay?”

He sounds a little huffy, but his childish tone only makes you smile and shake your head.

“That you are, Ashton. And you know, it’s a lot better than the first – “

“We agreed we wouldn’t talk about the first one anymore, right?”

His eyes narrow comically at you – you remember teasing him so much the first time that the poor boy was more traumatized by your pokings than the severe food poisoning.

Maybe it was a mixture of both. You’ll never know.

“Right, whatever you say Ash. But you are getting better.”

“I am?”

“Of course, babe. Thank you for the meal.”

You say the words sincerely because even though the meal was undoubtedly probably mostly edible, you knew the effort Ashton put into making something for you, and that wasn’t something you were going to take for granted – especially when he was away for so long.

He gestures to your plate with a grin, and you pick up your fork with only a second of hesitation.

There’s nothing to be afraid of for you, really – the only thing you had to fear was getting the food to your mouth without making a mess – why was it so slimy?

And it was just like any other meal, despite the unique texture – it all slipped past your mouth without a lingering impression, much like water’s nothingness down your throat.

You didn’t really mind it at this point – it was hardly a setback in life, and food was food after all.

But when you look over at Ashton, you can see he’s having different feelings.

His nose is scrunched up in distaste, lips puckered and twisted, eyes squeezed shut – it was almost a caricature of him, a sour expression to a comical extent.

And you can’t help but to let a few giggles escape your lips despite the extreme pain he seemed to be in.

“Ash? You alright?”

He nods painfully, chugging down his glass of water with the urgency of a dying man in the desert.

“Yeah… I’m just – whoa okay that was not how it was supposed to taste – wow.

“I take it that wasn’t a good ‘wow’?”

He shakes his head like a child, curls flying.

“I’m really glad you can’t taste this, babe. Hardly something to savor.”

“Mothballs or wet cat?”

“A dead cat in the middle of a pigeon-infested field mixed in with last Friday’s trash and sprinkled with acidic rain.”

That bad, huh?”

“I think I made a bomb.”

“A real explosion in your tastebuds, I bet.”

He laughs and you grin wryly at him, poking at the food in front of you.

He downs the rest of the water – and yours too, while he was at it – sighing loudly before slouching back into the seat.

“So… Chinese or Greek?”

His voice is small, coated with a slight layer of defeat at the surrender to takeout.

“I was thinking something with chicken…”

His eyes light up, sudden life sparking him past his stupor from just moments ago.

“You know, I used to work at KFC…”

-

more imagines here!