
Even in decay, there is beauty.
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Holly and it’s lovely reflective qualities.
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Into the unknown with a particularly sci-fi looking oak gall.
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Ripe and ready for battle.
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Self-repair is the only way forward.
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We crave resurrection to make sense of our demise.
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No flight required. We have our own methods.
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Creating patterns from nature. Imposing order where none belongs.
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A movement in the grass. A whisper in the branches.
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A murder of crows in the bleakest of winters.
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