In these primeval British woods with their green bark.
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About Me
- Christie
- Creative writer - Traveler - Archaeologist manque - Ardent lover of the play of light, the journeyings of time, things ephemeral and ancient
Popular Posts
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On my way back from campus, a fine flurry of yellow leaves. Dissettling December . . . image: Christie B. Cochrell, Leaves in Fountain -
One of those Bonnard oranges to end all oranges. The scrumptious quintessence of orange. image: Pierre Bonnard, Bouquet of Mimosas -
The landlord of our quiet backwater lodging in Venice explained how to get to St. Mark’s: turning right, left, right, left, ri... -
“I want to see an elephant hunt down a man for the sole purpose of collecting his teeth, while a chorus of typewriters sings son... -
These (though three-leafed) remind me of the patch of four-leaf clovers I found in our lawn in Santa Fe, the s... -
I was chiding myself for having walked the labyrinth at Ghost Ranch during the hottest hour of the afternoon (just as ... -
Within the constant motion of my life, I’ve had to learn to find stillness within the rush, and to understand what the Chinese philo... -
Away for the weekend, and gratefully back home here to the coast, where I'm nesting again. Making a chicken and farro salad with... -
Happy Independence Day! “The greatest thing in the world is to know how to belong to oneself.” —Michel de Montaign... -
Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury is a book to be savored slowly, sitting under trees or on a riverbank. Nothing else is as summery....
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