Virtually all I’ve done of any possible consequence has proceeded from imagination confronting printed maps and nautical charts. Maps were - and still are for me - catechism. Place-names posed the questions, and I hunted the answers. To discover in an atlas, say, Dagsboro, Delaware, the questions follow: Have I been there? What’s it like? Any hidden booty?
William Least Heat-Moon, from Roads to Quoz (via rustbeltjessie)

The Last Time I Saw Richard, from Blue, 1971.

In 1979 Mitchell reflected, “The Blue album, there’s hardly a dishonest note in the vocals. At that period of my life, I had no personal defenses. I felt like a cellophane wrapper on a pack of cigarettes. I felt like I had absolutely no secrets from the world and I couldn’t pretend in my life to be strong. Or to be happy. But the advantage of it in the music was that there were no defenses there either.”


Pieces of Blue

There’s a very nice passage in Rebecca Solnit’s A Field Guide to Getting Lost, Viking 2005. She writes about “the blue at the far edge of what can be seen, that color of horizons, of remote mountain ranges, of anything far away … the color of there, seen from here. The color of where you are not.” Quite beautiful.  I’ve included the passage here: The Blue of Desire.

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