greengages

Late August by Margaret Atwood encaptures the heavy/sexy/impatient/lustful summer atmosphere. The description of the plums reminds me of the greengages and figs i have been gorging on recently. There is something desperately indulgent about sweet, summer fruits.
 I feel restless in these last few weeks of summer when I know I should relish in it. Its like an itch. An itch for a new beginning. And yet I don't want to let go of this consistent boredom. Some days I write 'to do' lists, which are rarely completed. I wanted to write contributions this summer, and now I only have one week left. At least I have been consistent in not completing my lists.

journalling:

attempts at pressing flowers

vain


a white trainers collage, a collection of songs and a danish pun. i tried to stain the pages with green tea but it looks dirty. i promise its tea.

suzie

source:

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/82190761920175126/