#changing seasons

[autumns-glory]

[pusheensad]

If seasons had souls, autumn would be mine🍁🍂

[academic-vampire]

[midwestaesthetics]

Lake Baikal, Siberian Russia...

[aprilfoolfrog]

Regrowth

I have been let out.

The warmth feels wonderful

on my bare skin.

Momentarily cooled

by the trickle of rain.

There for a minute,

possibly two-

before the sun rose

above the grey clouds

to dry my damp flesh.

Hot in my dress,

hair pulled back.

Today I changed my clothes;

feeling like a person

again.

A part of a long drive

where I am not needed

to be the pilot

of the vessel.

That gives me time

to observe the world

as she regrows.

Trees flowering

and spouting lush

green leaves.

Yellow dandelion's

poking out

beneath the untouched grass

beside the busy highway.

Water racing along the ditch

as still puddles form

along the barren fields

regrowing along the side

of the road.

I admire the beauty of it.

I am reminded

that after the dead of winter,

I too-

regrow.

Written by AprilFool 🐸

4/16/2026

[uwmspeccoll]

✨❄️🐦 Fairytale Friday 🐦❄️✨

Frequent Fliers

Winter doesn’t empty the landscape; it just changes the guest list. This week’s selection is Winter’s Birds by May Garelick, with illustrations by Clement Hurd, published in 1965 by Young Scott Books in New York.

In this quiet, observant picture book, Garelick keeps track of the birds around her home as the seasons change. Some stick it out through snow and cold, while others politely excuse themselves and reappear in spring. There’s no judgment here, just observation. Staying and leaving are both perfectly valid choices, depending on your feathers.

May Garelick (1910–1989) began writing children’s books in the 1950s after working behind the scenes in New York publishing. She was known for listening closely, especially to children, and for letting curiosity lead the way. That spirit is evident here. Winter’s Birds feels less like a lesson and more like an invitation to notice what’s already happening just outside the window. It reads like the literary equivalent of standing at a window with a mug in hand, quietly noting who’s brave enough to show up today.

The illustrations by Clement Hurd (1908-1988), familiar to many from Goodnight Moon, bring warmth and personality to winter scenes that might otherwise feel stark. His birds feel alert, busy, and very aware of where the food situation stands.

Winter’s Birds reminds us that winter has its own rhythms and its own regulars. I’m fairly certain this one has Max’s stamp of approval, and possibly a few strong opinions about which birds are the real stars.

-View previous Fairytale Friday posts

--View more from our Historical Curriculum Collection

---Melissa (deferring to Max on bird rankings), Distinctive Collections Library Assistant 

[its-will-o-the-wisp]

"Our world isn't whimsical at all"

"I wish our world was like a fantasy movie"

"I wish our world was more dystopian"

"I wish we had fantasy creatures and we looked cooler"

We have sharks with spots and stripes. We have snow bears and forest bears. We have foxes. We have sea horses. Our leaves change colours depending on the seasons. Our veins appear blue and some of us have white eyelashes. We have chubby bodies and skinny bodies. We have governments to overthrow. We have serial killers and cults. We live on a giant ball floating in space. We have over 10,000 different species of birds. We have ants that can lift 50 times its body weight. We fly around the world in big metal flying machines. We have snow and lightning. We have cruel people in charge who treat society like puppets. We have sex for fun. We have animals with horns. We have religions and temples and churches. We have fireflies. We have bioluminescence that makes ocean water shine blue. We have black cats with yellow eyes. We have psychics. We have science. We have glowing mushrooms. We have stories about dragons and fairies and mermaids. We have teachers. We have clouds and wind that turn into a tornado. We have machines on different planets. Our skin prunes up when we're under water so that we have better grip. Our skin gets goosebumps when we feel like something is wrong. Everyone has their own special fingerprint. We have different coloured eyes and skin. We braid hair. There are homes made out of ice. We brand our bodies to make ourselves look cooler. We have witches. We have castles and kings and queens. We have owls that twist their head 270 degrees. A few times a year, our sun and moon meet. Our moon affects our ocean current. We have giant squids and patterned seashells. Our palms look like leaf patterns. When we like someone, we press our lips to theirs, just to feel closer. Our wind whistles. We cook food over bright orange dancing flames. We have the aurora borealis. We have assassins.

Look. At. The. World. Around. You.

[adventuresofalgy]

As Algy rested beneath the golden hosta leaves, dangling his legs over the edge of the wee garden pond, his fluffy mind turned languidly to this and that, as fluffy minds are apt to do when not engaged on more substantial matters, and he began to think about a tumblr post which his friend @edinburgh-by-the-sea had made today: a pretty image of fallen autumn leaves, labelled with the caption "could it be eternity"…

At that moment, a late-flying red admiral butterfly brushed past him in its search for the last of the autumn nectar, and as Algy blew it a fluffy kiss, he reflected:

He who binds to himself a joy Does the winged life destroy He who kisses the joy as it flies Lives in eternity's sunrise

[Algy is thinking of the poem Eternity by the late 18th/early 19th century English poet and artist William Blake.]