Bon Iver maintains a book of pencil drawings of creatures he sees in the woods, never failing to return the book to the top pocket of his oilcloth rucksack after a walk around the property. His style is loving and assured, but the sketches themselves don’t always correspond to animals I’ve personally ever seen.
'This little mouse has wings?' I ask.
He nods. ‘I found her in the branches of an aspen. I think she must have flown up there.’ He closes his eyes. ‘What an incredible day!’















