Late August - Inka Essenhigh, 2012.

American, b.1969 -

Oil on canvas , 60 x 78 in. 152.4 x 198.1 cm.

Crime Boys on Theseus’ Ship

@wolfythewitch (Brother animatic) // Richard Siken // knp!!! (Saint Bernard Animatic) // The Soccer Journals by Everybody’s Worried About Owen // my rp with @racklime // Theseus by The Oh Hellos // Late-August (lapse animatic) // Alice Notley // @holly-warbs // Alexis Pauline Gumbs

Tips for late summer days 🌌

visiting an observatory, watching celestial objects through a telescope

organizing evening picnics in a rose garden

visiting a renown fair nearby

packing sandwiches and homemade lemonades for road trips with friends

painting outside in the plein air

planning a one day trip to a spa town

taking advantage of the last warm nights by stargazing in the fields

reflecting about the past summer months

shopping, strolling along the boulevard or visiting the mall

preparing for the back to school season and a fresh new start

Source: pinterest.com

ℍ𝐚𝓵ｌ נ𝐀 𝔳คĻǤẸ - late August

you may think its a good idea to watch through all the late august dsmp animatics again and it'll be fine.

you are wrong.

dont fucking do it. you will cry.

dont. look at me. dont do it.

dont fucking do it. nuh uh, dont even glance at it, its not worth it, you will wonder where the time went. and also. lore.

i’m scheduling this post on 10/8/21 (british format

ayo anyone else remember when late-august showed up a day after the biggest event in the lore, dropped 5 of the most beautiful animatics the fandom had ever seen and then dipped?

pepperidge farm remembers

late august

Blackberry-Picking

We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre. But when the bath was filled we found a fur, A rat-grey fungus, glutting on our cache. The juice was stinking too. Once off the bush The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour. I always felt like crying. It wasn't fair That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot. Each year I hoped they'd keep, knew they would not.

part 3

A poem by Marie Howe

Low Tide, Late August

That last summer when everything was almost always terrible we waded into the bay one late afternoon as the tide had almost finished pulling all the way out

and sat down in the waist-deep water, I floating on his lap facing him, my legs floating around him, and we quietly coupled,

and stayed, loosely joined like that, not moving, but being moved by the softly sucking and lapping water, as the pulling out reached its limit and the tide began to flow slowly back again.

Some children ran after each other, squealing in the shallows, near but not too near.

I rested my chin on his shoulder looking toward the shore. As he must have been looking over my shoulder, to where the water deepened and the small boats tugged on their anchors.

Marie Howe

First published in the print edition of The New Yorker

🦇🌔

Source: gubbetorp

ℍ𝐚𝓵ｌ נ𝐀 𝔳คĻǤẸ