It's Almost That Time Of Year Again, I Took This Picture Between Copper Mountain And Frisco Colorado,

No Exit

Don’t fall in love with a woman who reads, a woman who feels too much, a woman who writes.  Don’t fall in love with an educated, magical, delusional, crazy woman. Don’t fall in love with a woman who thinks, who knows what she knows and also knows how to fly; a woman sure of herself.  Don’t fall in love with a woman who laughs or cries making love, knows how to turn her spirit into flesh; let alone that one who loves poetry (these are the most dangerous) or spends half an hour contemplating a painting and isn’t able to live without music.  Don’t fall in love with a woman who is interested in politics and is rebellious and feels a huge horror from injustice. One who does not like to watch television at all. Or a woman who is beautiful no matter the features of her face or her body.  Don’t fall in love with a woman who is intense, entertaining, lucid and irrelevant. Don’t wish to fall in love with a woman like that. Because when you fall in love with a woman like that, whether she stays with you or not, whether she loves you or not, from a woman like that, you never come back. 

Martha Riveria Garrido (via anavableu)

I can relate to this.

Holy Family Shrine in Gretna NE

#Photography

Branching out.

#Photography

Old Passenger Railcar in Idaho Springs Co.

#Photography #Black&White

A pillar close to downtown Omaha NE

Have a seat and relax.

#Photography

Gina - London

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Robert Frost - October O hushed October morning mild, Thy leaves have ripened to the fall; Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild, Should waste them all. The crows above the forest call; Tomorrow they may form and go. O hushed October morning mild, Begin the hours of this day slow. Make the day seem to us less brief. Hearts not averse to being beguiled, Beguile us in the way you know. Release one leaf at break of day; At noon release another leaf; One from our trees, one far away. Retard the sun with gentle mist; Enchant the land with amethyst. Slow, slow! For the grapes’ sake, if they were all, Whose leaves already are burnt with frost, Whose clustered fruit must else be lost— For the grapes’ sake along the wall.