I am hearing grinning at the feather-spun synchronicity of reading this beautiful-thoughtful-funny piece while two Great Horned Owls play Marco Polo over my roof.
“So rarely do we allow ourselves to linger past the swift aperture of the eye—or lens—such that we might feed our other senses, might seep into a place of deeper meaning.”
My senses are hungry for soulful fare. I’m thinking of dark and quiet as a cleanse of sorts, sharpening our senses once again, making the contrast of junk indigestible. With you in the struggle and resistance 🖤🦉
I am hearing grinning at the feather-spun synchronicity of reading this beautiful-thoughtful-funny piece while two Great Horned Owls play Marco Polo over my roof.
“So rarely do we allow ourselves to linger past the swift aperture of the eye—or lens—such that we might feed our other senses, might seep into a place of deeper meaning.”
My senses are hungry for soulful fare. I’m thinking of dark and quiet as a cleanse of sorts, sharpening our senses once again, making the contrast of junk indigestible. With you in the struggle and resistance 🖤🦉
Dripping stalagmite was my favourite
Sign me up for Stalactite Season