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Butterflies don’t write books, neither do lilies or violets. Which doesn’t mean they don’t know, in their own way, what they are. That they don’t know they are alive—that they don’t feel, that action upon which all consciousness sits, lightly or heavily. Humility is the prize of the leaf-world. Vain glory is the bane of us, the humans.  

~Mary Oliver

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I smile, trying to reassure everybody, everybody in the world.

— Michael Faber, from “The Safehouse,” The Fahrenheit Twins and Other Stories (Canongate, 2005)

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Butterball and his tracks. Tulit’a, Northwest Territories, Canada.

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january 2, 2019

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By Rose Ann Prevec

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Blue Tit/blåmes. Värmland, Sweden (January 12, 2020).

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The garden in winter. Värmland, Sweden (January 21, 2017).

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Aldro Thompson Hibbard (American 1886-1972), Red Barn With Figure in Winter, Oil on board

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Chema Mendez aka Mendez Mendez (Dominican, b. Dominican Republic, based Bavaro, Punta Cana, Dominican Republic) - Growing, Digital Art

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Snowed In

Patreon / False Knees Print Shop

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“The aim of life is self-development. To realize one’s nature perfectly — that is what each of us is here for.”

— Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

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sea anemone

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miren alós