Come Lay in the Woods

Behind the Branches, Whispers

[weltenwellen]

Wale Ayinla, from “Portrait of a Boy with Grief”

[weltenwellen]

Sally Wen Mao, from “Opera Sextronique”, Oculus

[melanchol1e-deactivated20250809]

[daisylambs]

[thoughtkick]

“You can’t stay in your corner of the Forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes.”

— A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

[fantomycelia]

I don't know about you but I love the delicacy of moss.

[alivehouse]

monoculture forests are deeply unsettling in a way that is hard to explain to people who do not spend a lot of time looking at forests

[painstation-deactivated20181026]

[ur-daily-inspiration]

[lionfloss]

by taysajorge

[wistfulwisp]

Welcome me home with open arms, or I maybe be tempted to run back into the dark again.

[darkearthsuggestions]

There is no hearth warm enough, no yellow night-light bright enough, to keep me from longing. Wrapped in your arms, I remember the dark. I sigh. How soft it was, the velvet brush of the unknown. The dark will always tempt me away from home, so leave the door open– eventually, I will find my way back. 

[naturegodsuggestion]

I am as much the dark as I am the light, my love. I will stay, here, warm grasses in sun dappled meadows, birdsong, warm rocks and the soft musk of fur and feather. I will stay, but I cannot stay long. I will stay, embracing you. But I eventually will always return to the dark and cold. Roiling stormclouds, lengthening shadows, moonless nights, the cold silence of winter. You must have all of me, my love, or none of me.

[shisasan]

Rainer Maria Rilke, Rilke’s Book of Hours [originally published 1905]

[nosebleedclub]

Holiness lives

[darkearthsuggestions]

In the soil, coiled, coaxing and kind, in the rootwebs that make new our rot, that take what we cannot bear and make our fates anew– wiggling divinity splits in half, always whole, fractals of creation.

In the sky, in the wood smoke caught by the clouds before it can wander too far, in the promise our waters made to fall and fall again, to meet one another mingled in our seas and choose to leave for prophesized plummet, every rain a shattering.

In the fossils whose footsteps we fit; in the paths that have turned to gullies; in the things that make the time pool thick as molten sugar on our tongues– that which is eternal; that which is made of, maker of, martyred to the quietest rhythms of life.

[gay-debord]

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼

HELL YEAH

𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

MYCELIUM NETWORK: CONNECTED

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼

WELCOME TO MUSHWORLD!!!

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼

[sweetd3lights]

All rights reserved  by Hosein Jamshidian

[cipheramnesia]

I bet if a mushroom could lap water out of your hand with a tongue that a gently drinking mushroom tongue on your hand would be the softest and gentlest thing.

[maureen2musings]

…

everlook_photography

[seabeck]

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