so obsessed with these wood decoy birds, i want all of them

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Game of Thrones Daily
i don't do bad sauce passes

Kiana Khansmith
todays bird
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
sheepfilms

if i look back, i am lost

pixel skylines
styofa doing anything
Xuebing Du

★

roma★

⁂
Claire Keane

Janaina Medeiros

blake kathryn
occasionally subtle

Discoholic 🪩
seen from Türkiye

seen from United States

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seen from United States
seen from Malaysia

seen from United States

seen from United States
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seen from Spain

seen from United States
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seen from United States

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seen from Malaysia
@blush-in
so obsessed with these wood decoy birds, i want all of them

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Jamie Wyeth, Iris at Sea, 1994. Oil on panel.
"Pleasure" - Rick Barot
You are told to believe in one paradise and then there is the paradise you come to know. The shoes lined up in pairs by the door and the herd moving with its mysterious intent across a dark plain. The blue of the sky which is the zenith of all colors and the love of the man in the next room, strong and rough as a hog's back. My mind has a slow metabolism, it is slow to understand what anything means but it understands that if you look at something long enough, it will have something to say to you. The sun that is strangely bright on some days, a poisoned canary, and the crop of winter rocks in a meadow in April. Learning decades later the name of the hospital where you were born and watching the child eat a mango as though it is time he is eating, time shining on his lips. On fewer days I agree with the poet's dread of being the wrong person in the right world, and believe in adhesion, in never showing up empty-handed, even if the pleasure I know best is fused with the abject. There is always the other side of the heart, its coaxing: You are here. You can begin again. You can rise.
“It was like being alive twice.”
Linda Gregg
One Day At A Time Leon Xu Acrylic and Car Metalizer on Arches Paper

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miss you. would like to grab that chilled tofu we love. by Gabrielle Calvocoressi
Beyond Skogafoss, Iceland. 35mm
exerpt from “John Chapman” in American Primitive by Mary Oliver
the french countryside from our train window
december, 2013
have i ever mentioned i love sundays

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Wake up call fr
To Live a Textured Life
Colorful field on the plain of Castelluccio di Norcia in springtime during an explosion of blossoming, Italy, 2013 - by Roberto Bettacchi, Italian
100 Small Acts of Love by The New York Times

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Two fishermen knit their winter woolies in Ramsgate, Kent, England, 1940s - Visual Studies Workshop/Getty Images
“We got real furniture. I mean, it was Salvation Army, but it was real. Our names were printed inside a heart on the dishtowel that hung on the refrigerator door handle. We got it made at Crystal Beach. It was a brave thing to do. But later we spilled loganberry juice on it, so we used it for dishes because we couldn’t bring ourselves to throw it out. And there were marigolds in amber glasses on the windowsill, daisies in a green cut-glass vase on the kitchen table, fresh mint and basil growing in a flower box on the porch. It was a home. I grew up in leaps and bounds. I learned to reduce the anxieties of life by paying bills on time, keeping receipts and promises, doing laundry before I ran out of underwear, picking up after myself. Most importantly, I learned to say I’m sorry. This relationship was too vital to let dust accumulate in its corners.”
— Leslie Feinberg, Stone Butch Blues