The Kitten, By Mary Oliver

My shrine to Memento Mori by rococobean

And why?

The world may be in crisis, but the mulberries are ripe, and they taste just as good as ever.

The world may be in crisis, but the fireflies came out at dusk yesterday. And they will come out again tonight, and tomorrow, too.

The world may be in crisis. But today a breeze stirred my hair and cooled my face, and it eased the heat of the summer sun and I took a deep breath and I breathed.

The world may be in crisis, but a stranger smiled at me, and a dog found a good home, and a toddler told his baby sister he loved her.

The world may be in crisis, but the world still holds people who are working to heal it.

The world may be in crisis, but there is still a world. And the world contains us, the world contains love, the world contains beauty. And the mulberries are ripe.

There is still a world.

Finding my feet

In a land where shadows softly creep, 

Where unknown paths and secrets sleep, 

I found myself, a stranger's face, 

In this new, uncharted place.

The streets were whispers, tales untold, 

With every step, my heart grew bold. 

Though fear did knock, I stood my ground, 

In this strange place, my feet were found.

The skies were foreign, stars anew, 

Yet in their light, my courage grew. 

With every dawn, a chance to see, 

The beauty in this mystery.

Through winding roads and hidden lanes, 

I danced in sun and welcomed rains. 

For in this place, so wild and free, 

I found the strength to just be me.

The city breathed, a living art, 

Its pulse became my beating heart. 

Mountains rose like ancient kings, 

Whispering tales of timeless things.

Rivers flowed like veins of gold, 

Through valleys deep and stories old. 

The wind, a voice both soft and strong, 

Sang to me a foreign song.

In markets bright with colours rare, 

I found new dreams within the air. 

Each face, a book with pages turned, 

In every gaze, a lesson learned.

The night, a velvet cloak of stars, 

Guided me through near and far. 

In this place, both strange and grand, 

I found my feet, I made my stand.

Surviving storms with steadfast grace, 

I carved my path, I found my place. 

In every challenge, strength did grow, 

In every trial, a chance to show.

Living fully, heart and soul, 

Embracing life, becoming whole. 

With every breath, a song to sing, 

In every moment, blossoming.

Thriving in this newfound land, 

With open heart and outstretched hand. 

In this place, both wild and free, 

I found my home, I found me.

This is sick af

Some charcoal drawings

@judas-redeemed / Wilhelm Schulz, “All Soul’s Day” / Neil Hilborn, “Our Numbered Days” /@petfurniture / Hugo Simberg , “The Garden of Death” / Ramona Ausubel

The texture of running water