#grubcore

Thinking about the whittled sound made when you hold the blade of grass tight between your thumbs and blow across it, thinking about the color of summer leaves when sunlight shoots through them, thinking about the billowing white on the other side of the mountains and the potent sense of an evening storm to come, thinking about how I used to think that anything could be poison ivy and would run around in the woods anyways, thinking about crawling all over fallen trees, cooking soups in a cove made beneath them or being the look out from the highest place I could climb, thinking about washing my bare feet in an aluminum lasagna pan filled with water before I went inside.

it’s always wiggle hours when ur worm!!!!

sometimes i remember i grew up in the forest and did shit like eat fuckin bark and go berry picking and kiss my grandparents sheep (they loved it). I’d go on walks with my grandma and we’d dance with trees. you always had to check the toilets/bath/sinks before using them in the summer because little frogs would come into the house and hide out there. i also crafted my own bows & arrows and had special spots by the creek that were “mine” and u kno what....... that’s my shit Babey!