Explore, feel, adventure.

“Yes, my consuming desire is to mingle with road crews, to be a part of a scene, anonymous, listening, recording. Yes, I want to talk to everybody as deeply as I can. I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night.”

— Sylvia Plath.

I'm travelling at the end of this week, and these are the images that come to my mind when I have to pack for my summer holidays. Beautiful places I'd like to visit, and images that remind me of the small village where my father's family live, a quiet and bucolic place in the middle of nature where I'm gonna spend the next days. 

The photos belong to different people and tumblrs, as indicated below, but several of them are from Randy P. Martin, an amazing photographer I've just discovered. His work is mesmerazing, checkout his flickr here:

  Randy P. Martin. 

Ph.: the end of my existence, blueberry pie, nomoredramas, randy p. martin (1, 7, 11, 15, 21), 4thethrillofit, rainbowdiary, michelle fleming, oliver tsuji, nesanir-photography, roostblog, lucy laucht, julencin2000, hawaiian coconut 

Travel round in front of the sun

  Sus párpados se cerraban apaciblemente por momentos mientras andaba en el agradable calorcito. Los furgones de Boland entregando en bandejas el nuestro de cada día; pero ella prefiere pan de ayer, pastelillos con las tostadas de cortezas calientes. Lo hace sentirse joven a uno. En alguna parte en el este: mañana temprano; partir al alba, viajar en redondo frente al sol, ganarle de mano por un día. Seguir así, para siempre nunca envejecer un día más técnicamente. Caminar a lo largo de una playa en un país desconocido. Vagar a través de calles entoldadas, a la aventura todo el día. Un temblor de los árboles, señal, el viento del crepúsculo. Cielo de oro esfumándose. Noche cielo luna, violeta, color de las ligas nuevas de Molly. Un sol autónomo levantándose al noroeste desde el sendero detrás del banco de Irlanda. Prolongó su sonrisa placentera.
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  His eyelids sank quietly often as he walked in happy warmth. Boland’s breadvan delivering with trays our daily but she prefers yesterday’s loaves turnovers crisp crowns hot. Makes you feel young. Somewhere in the east: early morning: set off at dawn. Travel round in front of the sun, steal a day’s march on him. Keep it up for ever never grow a day older technically. Walk along a strand, strange land. Wander through awned streets. Dander along all day. A shiver of the trees, signal, the evening wind. Fading gold sky. Night sky, moon, violet, colour of Molly’s new garters. A homerule sun rising up in the northwest from the laneway behind the bank of Ireland. He prolonged his pleased smile.

— James Joyce, Ulysses.

Ph.: carrie wishwishwish, toi ♥, the edge of love stills, chloe maylor, 

stephen edwards, théo gosselin, appleisapple, shawn lenker