return

 When I write I give to the earth, which for me is everything, a little of what belongs to the earth. In that sense, writing for me is to die a little, to anticipate a definitive return to the earth. I write the way I live, the way I love, destroying myself. I commit suicide in words.

Finally, we entered Chetaube County, my imaginary birthplace, where the names of the little winding roads and minuscule mountain communities never failed to inspire me: Yardscrabble, Big Log, Upper, Middle and Lower Pigsty, Chicken Scratch, Cooterville, Felchville, Dust Rag, Dough Bag, Uranus Ridge, Big Bottom, Hooter Holler, Quickskillet, Buck Wallow, Possum Strut … We always say a picture speaks a thousand words, but isn’t the opposite equally true?

The future belongs to those who understand that doing more with less is compassionate, prosperous and enduring, and thus more intelligent, even competetive.

When once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return.

Flowers help us release, renew and rejoice.
They remind us of who we really are and let us
return to our state of beauty and freedom.
~ Darina Stoyanova ~