( via / me )

Peaceful solitude.

"The Necropolis loves its roses." --We the Parasites

In This Life.

"That time
after the night’s frost the tree
weeping, the miser in me
complaining: Why all this washing
the earth’s feet in gold? And I,
my finger at my lips: Because
it is what we are made of."

— R. S. Thomas via @isidro_li

The Ring of Brodgar.