myopic mycelium
@myopicmycelium.bsky.social
An unknown species flies across the moon during nocturnal migration.
“But if each bird in his nocturnal passage were as luminous as a meteor, how the heavens would blaze during the migrating season, and how wonderful would seem their journeyings to and fro.” -Orin Libby, 1899.
“But if each bird in his nocturnal passage were as luminous as a meteor, how the heavens would blaze during the migrating season, and how wonderful would seem their journeyings to and fro.” -Orin Libby, 1899.
October 9, 2025 at 4:19 PM
An unknown species flies across the moon during nocturnal migration.
“But if each bird in his nocturnal passage were as luminous as a meteor, how the heavens would blaze during the migrating season, and how wonderful would seem their journeyings to and fro.” -Orin Libby, 1899.
“But if each bird in his nocturnal passage were as luminous as a meteor, how the heavens would blaze during the migrating season, and how wonderful would seem their journeyings to and fro.” -Orin Libby, 1899.
The world still hums with beauty and astonishment. We share the planet with whales that sing across oceans and navigate by watching the stars, with fish that pass ways of knowing across generations, with turtles that follow invisible patterns of magnetism back to the beaches where they were born.
July 31, 2025 at 4:53 AM
The world still hums with beauty and astonishment. We share the planet with whales that sing across oceans and navigate by watching the stars, with fish that pass ways of knowing across generations, with turtles that follow invisible patterns of magnetism back to the beaches where they were born.
Pine trees in shades of green were shimmering in the cool morning wind. Overhead the sky was gray but bright, and low clouds moved steadily across it, sailing on the sea of wind. Everything, it seemed, was moving.
Gareth Brown. The Book of Doors, 2024.
Gareth Brown. The Book of Doors, 2024.
July 24, 2025 at 1:17 AM
Pine trees in shades of green were shimmering in the cool morning wind. Overhead the sky was gray but bright, and low clouds moved steadily across it, sailing on the sea of wind. Everything, it seemed, was moving.
Gareth Brown. The Book of Doors, 2024.
Gareth Brown. The Book of Doors, 2024.
When we reached the field, it was a line of darkness scrawled on the deeper darkness. We stumped our bikes over the wet, breathless earth.
“There,” he said.
“Hmm?”
“Stars.”
I blinked at him, and then I looked up. It was true. In the fresh March night, the sky was full of stars.
“There,” he said.
“Hmm?”
“Stars.”
I blinked at him, and then I looked up. It was true. In the fresh March night, the sky was full of stars.
July 6, 2025 at 6:18 PM
When we reached the field, it was a line of darkness scrawled on the deeper darkness. We stumped our bikes over the wet, breathless earth.
“There,” he said.
“Hmm?”
“Stars.”
I blinked at him, and then I looked up. It was true. In the fresh March night, the sky was full of stars.
“There,” he said.
“Hmm?”
“Stars.”
I blinked at him, and then I looked up. It was true. In the fresh March night, the sky was full of stars.
The rock had that gray, elemental, eternal look which granite alone has. One seemed to be face to face with the gods of the fore-world. Like an atom, like a breath of to-day, we were suddenly confronted by abysmal geologic time,— the eternities past and the eternities to come.
May 25, 2025 at 5:47 PM
The rock had that gray, elemental, eternal look which granite alone has. One seemed to be face to face with the gods of the fore-world. Like an atom, like a breath of to-day, we were suddenly confronted by abysmal geologic time,— the eternities past and the eternities to come.
A Cape May Warbler inspects the underside of an oak leaf.
March 25, 2025 at 12:00 AM
A Cape May Warbler inspects the underside of an oak leaf.
The air seemed fairly alive with invisible birds as the calls rang out, now sharply and near at hand, and now faintly and far away. Almost human many of them seemed, and it was not difficult to imagine that they expressed a whole range of emotions from anxiety and fear up to good-fellowship and joy.
March 7, 2025 at 1:31 AM
The air seemed fairly alive with invisible birds as the calls rang out, now sharply and near at hand, and now faintly and far away. Almost human many of them seemed, and it was not difficult to imagine that they expressed a whole range of emotions from anxiety and fear up to good-fellowship and joy.
Is there anything more moving than awaking to wonders that you have been wandering among all your life unaware? Is there anything more hopeful than realizing that you've always been surrounded by sublime scenes?
Leigh Ann Henion. Night Magic, 2024.
Leigh Ann Henion. Night Magic, 2024.
February 24, 2025 at 2:28 AM
Is there anything more moving than awaking to wonders that you have been wandering among all your life unaware? Is there anything more hopeful than realizing that you've always been surrounded by sublime scenes?
Leigh Ann Henion. Night Magic, 2024.
Leigh Ann Henion. Night Magic, 2024.
I was in no tent under leaves, sleepless and glad. There was no moon at all; along the world's coasts the sea tides would be springing strong. The air itself also has lunar tides: I lay still. Could I feel in the air an invisible sweep and surge, and an answering knock in my lungs?
January 5, 2025 at 7:37 PM
I was in no tent under leaves, sleepless and glad. There was no moon at all; along the world's coasts the sea tides would be springing strong. The air itself also has lunar tides: I lay still. Could I feel in the air an invisible sweep and surge, and an answering knock in my lungs?
I love you. I love you. I love you. I’ll write it in waves. In skies. In my heart. You’ll never see, but you will know. I’ll be all the poets, I’ll kill them all and take each one’s place in turn, and every time love’s written in all the strands it will be to you.
November 30, 2024 at 1:03 AM
I love you. I love you. I love you. I’ll write it in waves. In skies. In my heart. You’ll never see, but you will know. I’ll be all the poets, I’ll kill them all and take each one’s place in turn, and every time love’s written in all the strands it will be to you.
There's night and day, brother, both sweet things; sun, moon, and stars, brother, all sweet things; there's likewise a wind on the heath. Life is very sweet, brother; who would wish to die?
November 25, 2024 at 1:14 AM
There's night and day, brother, both sweet things; sun, moon, and stars, brother, all sweet things; there's likewise a wind on the heath. Life is very sweet, brother; who would wish to die?
Is the sky singing? Is the moon singing? Did a dragonfly drink nectar, climb into the clouds and make music? Has thunder suddenly decided to turn melodious? In the flood of the sky, mixing its flood of joy, I stood watching the skylark swimming, singing.
November 6, 2024 at 9:40 PM
Is the sky singing? Is the moon singing? Did a dragonfly drink nectar, climb into the clouds and make music? Has thunder suddenly decided to turn melodious? In the flood of the sky, mixing its flood of joy, I stood watching the skylark swimming, singing.
Willow Flycatcher
September 26, 2024 at 12:00 AM
Willow Flycatcher
The first time I ever recorded the songs of humpback whales at night was off Bermuda. It was also the first time I had ever heard the abyss. Normally you don't hear the size of the ocean when you are listening, but I heard it that night.
September 22, 2024 at 1:38 AM
The first time I ever recorded the songs of humpback whales at night was off Bermuda. It was also the first time I had ever heard the abyss. Normally you don't hear the size of the ocean when you are listening, but I heard it that night.
I was surprised when I found myself in my room, not clearly remembering the drive home from school or even opening the front door. But that didn't matter. Losing track of time was the most I asked from life.
Stephenie Meyer. New Moon, 2006.
Stephenie Meyer. New Moon, 2006.
July 15, 2024 at 1:46 AM
I was surprised when I found myself in my room, not clearly remembering the drive home from school or even opening the front door. But that didn't matter. Losing track of time was the most I asked from life.
Stephenie Meyer. New Moon, 2006.
Stephenie Meyer. New Moon, 2006.
And we were friends now, somehow — as she must have known we would be all along.
Alice looked at me with her splendid, wise eyes . . . choosing.
Stephenie Meyer. Twilight, 2005.
Alice looked at me with her splendid, wise eyes . . . choosing.
Stephenie Meyer. Twilight, 2005.
July 14, 2024 at 9:38 PM
And we were friends now, somehow — as she must have known we would be all along.
Alice looked at me with her splendid, wise eyes . . . choosing.
Stephenie Meyer. Twilight, 2005.
Alice looked at me with her splendid, wise eyes . . . choosing.
Stephenie Meyer. Twilight, 2005.
“How late is it?” I wondered.
“It’s twilight,” Edward murmured. His voice was thoughtful, as if his mind were somewhere far away. I stared at him as he gazed unseeingly out the windshield.
I was still staring when his eyes suddenly shifted back to mine.
Stephenie Meyer. Twilight, 2005.
“It’s twilight,” Edward murmured. His voice was thoughtful, as if his mind were somewhere far away. I stared at him as he gazed unseeingly out the windshield.
I was still staring when his eyes suddenly shifted back to mine.
Stephenie Meyer. Twilight, 2005.
July 10, 2024 at 3:56 AM
“How late is it?” I wondered.
“It’s twilight,” Edward murmured. His voice was thoughtful, as if his mind were somewhere far away. I stared at him as he gazed unseeingly out the windshield.
I was still staring when his eyes suddenly shifted back to mine.
Stephenie Meyer. Twilight, 2005.
“It’s twilight,” Edward murmured. His voice was thoughtful, as if his mind were somewhere far away. I stared at him as he gazed unseeingly out the windshield.
I was still staring when his eyes suddenly shifted back to mine.
Stephenie Meyer. Twilight, 2005.
When the folks first left, and the evening came, the hunting cats slouched in from the fields and mewed on the porch. And when no one came out, the cats crept through the open doors and walked mewing through the empty rooms. And then they went back to the fields and were wild cats from then on.
June 26, 2024 at 4:09 AM
When the folks first left, and the evening came, the hunting cats slouched in from the fields and mewed on the porch. And when no one came out, the cats crept through the open doors and walked mewing through the empty rooms. And then they went back to the fields and were wild cats from then on.
“Tell me this, instead: what happens when we die?”
“Ha!” He leapt off the ground, his great wings spreading wide. “What happens when you knock a vase off the shelf?” He leaned down closer, leering. “What happens when a machine fails? Nothing special. It just doesn’t work any more.”
“Ha!” He leapt off the ground, his great wings spreading wide. “What happens when you knock a vase off the shelf?” He leaned down closer, leering. “What happens when a machine fails? Nothing special. It just doesn’t work any more.”
June 26, 2024 at 3:58 AM
“Tell me this, instead: what happens when we die?”
“Ha!” He leapt off the ground, his great wings spreading wide. “What happens when you knock a vase off the shelf?” He leaned down closer, leering. “What happens when a machine fails? Nothing special. It just doesn’t work any more.”
“Ha!” He leapt off the ground, his great wings spreading wide. “What happens when you knock a vase off the shelf?” He leaned down closer, leering. “What happens when a machine fails? Nothing special. It just doesn’t work any more.”