#Navy Lamb's Wool Area Rug
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Pasargad Home Antique Sultanabad Navy Wool Area Rug - 12' x 19' | Imperial Persian Rugs
Shop the Pasargad Home Antique Sultanabad Navy Lamb's Wool Area Rug (12' x 19') at Imperial Persian Rugs. Handcrafted with premium materials for a timeless and elegant addition to any space.
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Floating Marigolds
🌵Today we hiked Tom Thumb trail, which is a beautiful and intoxicating walk on the McDowell Mountains, a half hour away from our apartment in Scottsdale. My memories of the walk are raw and ethereal, steeped in natural wonder and energy, as potent as the fresh snowy white, shimmering morsels of quartz stone, I found on the trail and as delicate as the many clementine orange, tiny, charming butterflies I saw flitting, gliding, rising and falling in gentle waves along the pink sandy earth, the butterflies, appearing like floating marigolds, twirling through jojobas, acacias, teddy bear chollas, prickly pear cactus and the gatherings of many dried scarlet, amethyst, bleached gold and chocolate tinted grasses. We walked along an uncultivated and wild desert with the shadows and sparkles dancing off the ridge of steely gray mountains, the light catapulting from wiry, needle embedded, hardy succulents and feathery clumps of grasses, trailing cautiously over the stumps of dried ocotillos, as the rushed breezes joined nature as it conducted the nimbus clouds, early October sunlight, far off late summer hurricane winds, nectar gathering bees and palpable dust into a beguiling symphony. Rattlesnakes, tarantulas, javelinas, scorpions and other desert dwellers are spotted on this trail. While, I was curious to see the natural inhabitants of such a cosmically and scenically charged terrain, I was grateful not to encounter any lethal fauna. While hiking along, I felt a slightly sinister energy, a nuance and awareness that the groves of chollas, slumbering mesquite trees, the serpentine and the web weaving habitué of the land, did not appreciate, humans ascending to their territory. Yet, being in uninimitable and unhindered natural manifestations, away from man made structures, traffic lights and manicured landscapes, in an open area, has a consciousness altering quality of change, or shifting borders between reality and illusions, of time moving and shaping the physical world, of the future cascading closer and of sudden insights and visions. As my husband trotted ahead, always a few stretches before me, yet close enough so we do not lose each other, I called out as he entreated me to hurry along. “I’m only a few steps behind.”, the words echoing through mystical, mysterious and impenetrable time and space.
Heretofore, my style has been predictable, often veering into the realm of slightly boring, thus, I am attempting to define it, such that it might inspire novel ways to translate my emotions, personality and subtle consciousness, into the way I present my self, with attire and jewelry. As I was born on the seventh of July, the number seven holds immense luck and possibility, and I consider it a charm and constant reminder of the magical nature of reality. The seven elements of my style would include romantic, feminine, mysterious, bohemian, poetic, classic and simple.
I tend to reach timelessly for white, nude or pale pink shirts, blouses and tops with skinny blue/black jeans, or black or navy shorts, I possess a cast of navy, emerald, white, camel, misty gray, mustard yellow, varied hues of pink and a few royal purple tinted dresses, I vary these, by sprinkling in a few petite floral patterned or striped pieces. My jewelry, consists of pearl, emerald or diamond studs or a pair of very thin gold hoops, I wear my engagement ring every day, with a combinations of a simple pearl ring I inherited from my grandmother, a minimal rose quartz band, or a ring with seven, small Zambian emeralds, I also wear my black Hermès watch, with pearl or brass bracelets. I tend to wear either nude high-heel sandals or pink, navy blue or leopard print ballet flats. In the mornings, dressing myself is a cherished ritual, I enjoy the unplanned nature and the momentous act of going through my collection of apparel, scarfs, shoes, belts and purses to help me gauge both the mood of the day and my own particular sensibility. I remind myself often, to look more carefully at the contents of my closet, rather then to miss details that might highlight a look, idea, or expression more powerfully and clearly, perhaps noting how one of my pink cardigans may be worn with thin spaghetti strapped dresses for work, or how a black piece with pearls would be both appealing and require scant thought on the days I am running late.
Here are a few insights into the elements of my style:
Romantic ambiances include, slowly opening cosmos petals, smoky Egyptian musk incense, a slow whirling fan and a window open with white curtains flapping softly, carrying notes of honeysuckle and jasmine. On days that I skew particularly romantic, I might leave my hair in loose waves, wear a pink dress as pale as a flushed cream rose and eat an almond croissant with dark vanilla coffee.
While, the feminine energies permeate my experience of reality, with attenuating garden blossoms, of noticing the golden light on miniature ivory roses, or of creating a handmade avocado toast with extra squeezes of lime and pink salt drifting like dawn mist on the pale green sea crowned with freshly torn basil, or of a tying a pleasingly floral patterned black and white silk scarf around a high ponytail.
The elements of mystery, heighten the charm and increase curiosity, such as when I deliberately button up my white cotton shirt, over a peach pink bralette, or when I move to reveal, the glimmering sparkles of minimal pearl or brass bracelets, under the long sleeves of a nude toned chiffon dress. The nuances of mystery linger especially poignantly, in the study of contrasts, of wearing a tight bun with a free, flowing, unrestricted dress or styling long, loose, tresses with a tight, caramel lacy blouse and charcoal skinny jeans. In evoking mystery, I try to imagine a poetess in a summer garden, listening to the songs of the pastel nectarine, dawn pink and blood orange stained dahlias that only she can hear, or of the perfume of blossoming foamy white roses, drifting quietly from the garden, on a night of a charged secret, rendezvous by a rollicking, capricious and lighthearted sea.
My bohemian temperament stems from my desire to grow wildflowers, to cut a few for a tiny vintage vase, to wear vibrant coral, burnt sienna, incanted jade green and white cotton dresses with gold hoops, to spray rose and jasmine mist, to burn palo santo, to light a few tea light candles to saturate darkened rooms with pools of starlight, to dwell among old books, houseplants and fairy lights, to read French literature, to dance on a frayed lilac and silver Persian carpet, write about light, memories, emotions and flowers, drink chamomile tea, remain awake dangerously late to read, do yoga, to traipse into reveries, of Paris in the rain, of picnics with artists in a field of poppies and of carelessly swimming in a painterly vanilla and frangipani grove by the sea.
A poetic nature stems from an inclination to glimpse at the heart rendering pain and beauty in any moment, of the perfume of the tuberose strung canopy on a wedding night on a lush hill overlooking a misty winter bay, of an accidental snapping on a beloved string of pearls on the road to California, of ink stained hands and gardeners nails, of rubbing coconut, jasmine and ylang ylang oil over freshly lavender soaped skin, of never having too many lace, silk or chiffon dresses, or of enthusiastically wearing scarfs and wraps during pumpkin spice latte season in the desert.
Classic elements evoke a timeless sensibility and appeal, it appears in my life when I choose objects and pieces that occur whimsically and beguilingly in nature, such as by wearing pearls, turquoise, or rose quartz, from wearing natural fabrics such as silk or cotton, or choosing the cuts of cloth that have yet to be rendered dated, such as shift dresses, pea coats, white button down shirts, shirt dresses accompanied with brightly hued ballet slippers or nude wedges. It translates into the style of my home in the faint whispers from my collection of old English literature books by M. Somerset Maugham, Oscar Wilde, Daphne Du Maurier and more, or in my curated blue and white china collections, or a massive hoard of natural linen napkins, in piles of soft, cashmere, kanthas or Turkish blankets, in botanical and seaside art and paintings, in natural, raw wood furniture, lambs wool rugs, hand made ceramics and more.
The charm of simplicity is noticing the details, so that one may curate and disregard extraneous elements that diminish the purest forms and shapes. Nature is often my muse when I attempt to simplify my thoughts, ideas, design, fashion or lifestyle; for nature reminds us that most beautiful things are generally free, indelible in our memories, is measured in joy rather than in time, yet often taken for granted, such as the unadorned blue and white of the sky, or the emerald light in a green forest, or the rows or ivory roses, mixed with pots of lavender and faded pink geraniums lining a driveway, or of the dual purposes of perfume and glow inherent in a single bottle of coconut oil, in pearl earrings and a blush pink silk dress, or of the wondrous ecstasy of a storm halfway between midnight and the first light, with the windows open, the hurried gales, intense strikes of lightning, lashing rain and felonious thunder, carrying us though the night like a ship in a tempest ridden sea, the earth rollicking and dancing through myriad reveries, while our souls are set adamantly free in way that only occurs while we sleep, the unexplainable darkness of reality, temporarily stayed, by the poetic grace and shimmering excitement of the desert during a rainstorm many hours before the sunrise. Very often, I try to renegotiate my desire for variety, complexity and maximalism with an equally painful inclination for those entities that exult in plainness, such as crisp toast with butter, or a French braid with red lips, or of seashell, poetry book and rose quartz collections, or of rosewater mist and candle lit yoga, or the tantalizing pairing of a cup of green tea and a blanket.
The most salient concern in armoring myself for date nights, errands, visiting garden stores, bookstores, coffee shops or to the law firm, is how a garment makes me feel; how a vivid peach dress with a lilac cardigan may help ameliorate anxiety on Monday, or how a midnight blue shirt dress might assist me on days, I need to refocus my energies on my ongoing projects or how a white peasant blouse, dangling earrings and faintly pink jeans, anoints a lighter mood and gypsy vibes to a mellow Wednesday. Yet, another lens to view my style is through the experiences I hope to have, so I might collect a scandalous amount of pale pink chiffon dresses, for dancing as the clock strikes midnight in a lantern scattered garden in Marrakech, dewy with the perfume of orange blossoms, thick groves of tuberose, calla lilies, cypresses and palms, or a camel sheath with pearls for investor meetings in steely fortresses, or a emerald silk mini dress for an afternoon of visiting art galleries and antique stores while visiting by husbands family home in Connecticut. But the truest way we adorn ourselves are through the little pinpricks of gathered light, accumulated fires and entrapped breezes that we patiently fasten, insert or slide on as final, lingering touches, maybe it is the the diamond tear shaped earrings given by your mothers best friend for your engagement, a delicate lavender rice pearl bracelet found on a trip to Sedona, opal stud earrings reminding you of the ones your parents gave you as a gift on your 12th birthday, the original opals likely in safe in a bank deposit box in Toronto or Dhaka, or the vintage emerald ring you brought for yourself to break the webs of ennui in those mind numbingly plebeian routines annotated by the music of tiny silver anklet bells. For, there is yet explained magic and deeply alchemical poetry impressed upon the gems, stones and minerals that we find along our journey, some inherited, others gifted and a few collected on our own, these are mesmerizing and solid reminders that we linger among stars, that we are as fragile as plum blossoms in the path of an impatient may gale, that the light entrances even the most sleeping entities, that the cracks make the gem even more beautiful, that strength arises from beauty and vice versa and that there are memories, whispers, passionate entreaties, unanswered prayers, surreptitious reveries, twinkling laughter and bespoke tears embedded in the earthly realm, translated so bewilderingly and delightfully into our bracelets and other charms.
I noticed that when a pillar candle burns down so that the wick dances incandescently in a hollow grove, flickering hypnotically in a cave of melted wax with the tower edged and traced by times retreat, the color of the candle is revealed through the fire, as it jumps, scales and tongues the darkened room, it pulses like heartbeats from another realm, it rhymes, riddles and casts the space with a forgotten memory, a distant wish, or an unknown song, it heightens the emotion, of the bitterness of our dwindling lease on time and of the sweetness of its term. The glow reminds us to notice the light impressions whenever we have a chance, for even when the moonlight hits the blossoming Texas sage it reveals further regarding beauty, magic, fragility, impermanence and joy. The candle flame is starlight lingering in our midst, intoxicating in its danger, eviscerating in its power and captivating as it burns the dust, the unheard music and the reality veiling air to offer us its light.
I realize that perhaps the small butterflies I mentioned at the beginning of this piece, written a week ago, may have already travelled along their wild desert mountain paths, imbibing honey from the prickliest-flowering succulents, seeping in the orchestra of sun light chased by the moon, having ecstatically ridden the autumnal breezes, on their way to appearing again far away as earthly marigolds. The same way every tear turns into a leaf and every joy into a flower. 🦋
#design#healing#lifestyle#love#gypsy#style#bohemian#flowers#perfume#wellness#magic#alchemy#nature#hikes#desert#pleasure#happiness#fashion
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