On Rewilding Ourselves
The night before last, winter’s breath had kissed the land, glazing everything with a layer of frost that caught the silver glow of the waning moon that still hung in the early morning sky, making everything shimmer and glisten like stars fallen from the heavens.
Caught in the Act
“Caught in the act of giving birth to a new oil-paint earth of no set design, you will lie there dying.”