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“A little heartthrob” The Canadian Goose and Vermilion Flycatcher
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“…and the weight of the earth is pressed to my ribs.”
— Virginia Woolf, from The Waves (via daydreaming-wildflower)
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the audre lorde questionnaire to oneself, intended as a creative writing exercise by Divya Victor, who asks to be credited
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Nothing
by Margaret Atwood
Nothing like love to put blood back in the language, the difference between the beach and its discrete rocks and shards, a hard cuneiform, and the tender cursive of waves; bone and liquid fish egg, desert & salt marsh, a green push out of death. The vowels plump again like lips or soaked fingers, and the fingers themselves move around these softening pebbles as around skin. The sky's not vacant and over there but close against your eyes, molten, so near you can taste it. It tastes of salt. What touches you is what you touch.
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"Both sides". Photographed by Lluis Camps for Au Revoir magazine
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Bull caribou with atypical antlers crosses a small stream at the Alaska Wildlife Conservation Center during Summer in Southcentral Alaska. - X
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