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Maybe it’s animalness that will make the world right again: the wisdom of elephants, the enthusiasm of canines, the grace of snakes, the mildness of anteaters. Perhaps being human needs some diluting. —Carol Emshwiller
because we need stories to survive. Stories suture up our wounds, stitch us back together. They keep our loved ones alive. They connect us all, like the mycorrhiza, the fungal web through which the trees talk. Like baby sloths or Kevin Bacon or actual bacon.
Trauma settles in cells. It is a hand-me-down, a corporeal heirloom. A tear slipped down the cheek of my nestling, whose calloused skin could not protect her eggshell heart.
The past is just so very persuasive, these memories a warm bath.
Grief can slam into you like a well-waxed window. But it means the ones you love aren’t lost or forgotten. They’ve made a home in your heart, which is the most permanent place of all.
About how shrew moms venture out with their babies by having each of them clench the base of a sibling’s tail to form a shrew safety conga line.
once a wild thing is owned, its spirit is no longer free, no longer true to itself.
“It is not your job to change her. It is your job to love her.”
I made a shape for myself, A shell shape Tiny, hidden, satisfactory, and safe But now I am sorry that I didn’t stretch to take up the entire ocean
Because what kind of a life is a life lived in fear? What kind of hollow living meant you couldn’t stretch your wings and scream the song inside of you?
The sky surrenders before those brave enough to leave the branch.
Love is the sun. It burns tiger bright, illuminating the heart and searing away sadness. What a beautifully brave act to hand over a heart.
Mother Nature is deliberate with her palette. When she paints you with unique colors, it’s because she trusts you can handle adversity and inspire others to greatness.
Maybe that’s a very lovely thing, to suffer so terribly and to still want to breathe the earth’s air, to still want to sit and watch the river.
When you love someone with your soul, they never really leave you; they are hemmed into your heart.
Family doesn’t have to look like you; they can have feathers and scales and scutes. What matters is that you’re loved for who you are in your heart. We survive when we are seen.
