By a flower-- By a letter

Some from last months blooms, found on afternoon walks

my lack of inspiration is quite due to an unexpected cold. it’s funny what the change in season can bring. here are some pressings.

my wick grows short and my inkwell will need filling but for now I write to distract from the nightmares that prowl within the promise of sleep

On a whim, perhaps driven for a desire of validation- even perhaps something as simple as perception- I have submitted a selection of my writings to The Abolitionist.

Assuredly he sees thousands of entries and mine shall pass over his desk without incident or notice as many before me have. 

That is the best I can hope for. I am unsure what my response might be if he responds critically. 

Some older flower pressings I enjoy from when I first began

Again, I aim to merely preserve my writing that I might come back and pour over it in frustration...

The lily was quite difficult

Here are some of my most recent pressings. I am pleased with the way these held their colour during the process.

I write here, not for a sense of beginning a thing that might come to bear fruit, but for fear of its quickly withering leaves and rapidly waning blossoms. Much like the careful act of pressing flowers for the herbarium, I lay prose and thought here.

At the advice of The Abolitionist I should ‘charge my prose with life.’ I had not thought my prose to be dead, or lay dying until they, and my ‘general air’ were described as bleak. Brother follows father greatly in a scorn for ‘sensibilities’ and my poetry, which I have not shared at will, is described by him as ‘muddled’ and ‘full of whining’