The Loss of diamonds.

a return to Giverny, Erik Madigan Heck

The Giverny we saw was less clotted with nympheas; they've bloomed every summer since 1893, or so. I trust they will bloom again.

Technivorm Plessner

Welcome home, beautiful baby.

Imaginary doings

Foujita cat

A good muse does not fall asleep in an unmade bed. A good muse does not leave her dresses in a tangle on the floor.

"Eyelids of the morning"

wisteria from AnOther

Rise, Mother, rise! We are under April skies and I need our nighttimes back. It is lonely walking home without you.

Flick, flick of the multi-tailed whip

Iris Schwarz

Mess. Once, twice, three times. Over again. Hiding places are running out.

Mundane desires

David Hockney from Nowness

Drawers need to be emptied, vegetables sliced perfectly, papers torn, shelves lined, windows flung wide open. Looking forward to a day to take out the trash.

Dreams that are wild, dreams that are strange.

Leonor Fini

Sleeping the sleep of 100-year princesses. Need round Dior gray rabbits to gently open my eyelids to the sounds of petunias' melodies.

My castle, my books.

...a languid Mexican actress read a poem with much tenderness followed by Harold reading it with much passion. It was 'Paris'. I wanted to dig Silvia Fuentes in the ribs and say: 'That's written to me, you know.' I felt an extraordinary tingle when my eyes met Harold's at the end of this, the first poem, written during our first 'honeymoon' at the Lancaster Hotel in 1975 and he gave me a small private smile. -Must You Go? My Life with Harold Pinter, Antonia Fraser

May we all be so in love, deep into our 70s.

The elusive listener who listens.

Alexander McQueen butterfly shoes

Some souls, they knew, what was flying around.

Cabbages

Zebra and girls by Kareena Zerefos via Honor

It is time to say thank you.

The beautiful, the contained, the functional mess.

At the foot of Montmartre from Ensuite

I have half a pistachio cake waiting, and a desire to play (controlled, precisely) with small, perfect things.

EDICT

Saturn lamp, 1930s

Four and three stars on your ankle, says his wife, who turns 32 today.

My castle, my books.

The following night (1982), Richard revisited his favorite Dylan Thomas radio play, Under Milkwood, at a public reading...Unbeknown to Richard, while he was reciting to a rapt audience, Elizabeth quietly entered the theater and slipped onto the stage, standing behind him. The audience was thrilled at the sight of her, and Burton wondered what the excitement was all about. Wearing jeans and a loose sweater, she suddenly upstaged him by curtsying and throwing a kiss to the standing-room-only audience. She then whispered to Richard, in perfect Welsh, "I love you."
"Say it again, once more, my petal. Say it louder," Burton answered.
Elizabeth, now addressing the audience, repeated the words: "Rwy'n dy garu di." -Furious Love: Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton, and the Marriage of the Century

Some books were written to be read on a plane by a starry-eyed newlywed.

"Reader, I married him."

We are home from Paris, where June's sun visited in April forcing the sleepy cherry blossoms into wide-eyed morning, before, even their siblings have risen in Japan.