Roseate Spoonbill
Arthur Morris / Getty Images
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom

seen from United States

seen from Netherlands
seen from China
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from China

seen from United States
seen from Belgium

seen from United States

seen from Türkiye
seen from Malaysia

seen from Türkiye

seen from Türkiye

seen from Türkiye

seen from India
seen from Chile
Roseate Spoonbill
Arthur Morris / Getty Images
Arthur Morgan Looking Cute As Hell 03/??
Round 1 Results
ALRIGHT IT’S TIME
A few of these results really surprised me! Others did not in the slightest. But either way, it is time to reveal the losers of Round 1!
Hello there! So here I am bouncing back from countless days of silence with a Halloween special!! Yes, I know I’m two weeks late, but let’s ignore that, shall we?
This is kind of a short story where you play as one of the politicians in Gaile, who’s now about to face a very dreadful encounter with an enigmatic person he’d probably prefer to have never met....
To make things simple, I’ll straight up say this is an introduction to Morpheus, our masked assassin, one of the most prominent characters in Hollowed Minds whom you’d eventually meet in the future, and might end up becoming either a trusted companion or a fearsome enemy.
Tell me what you feel after you read it and send me asks about it if you want to! Enjoy!
https://dashingdon.com/play/shai/morpheus/mygame/
Trigger Warnings: Character death, violence, mild gore
Arthur Morris Cohen (né en 1928). Brooklyn Bridge, 2002. - Heritage Auctions.
Golden-Fronted Woodpecker
Arthur Morris / Getty Images
A poem by Moira Linehan
Last Wishes
When I go to leave this world, how do I take with me the grace it held out, it held onto, when I go, that momentary grace I caught now and again as I’d look up, look out? Once, late afternoon, a March wind swaying the elm, the shadows Matisse’s
blue cut-outs, thighs thick as limbs dancing over the rumpled snow on such delicate pointed feet. Once, columns of snow swirling across my pond and I saw stampeding horses, saw again those sheep outside Dingle, a dog driving them, left then right, lower
to upper field. When I go, that streaming once more mine. Or when I go, the sudden rising of hundreds of swallows banking as one, then banking again. That nearly closed arc of an Arctic tern’s wing turning in flight. When, when to the next wherever I’m going—
mound, mountain, lap of God—let my leaving be its own imprint of grace: the eagle I once saw drift down over a river, extend its talons, graze the water, and lift. The imprint of that long, slow swoop—what’s first and last remembered when I go. Then, only then, the shock of it: prize fish taken out of its world.
Moira Linehan
Image: Perching Arctic Tern Spreading Wings in Manitoba by Arthur Morris
Roseate Spoonbill. By James Shadle - Wild Florida Photography, 2013