Lo admito: Me gustan las mariposas. Me gustan por sus alas de colores y por las fotos de Golden Retrievers con una posada en el hocico. Me gustan por su nombre científico, “lepidópteros” (la sonoridad al pronunciar “dópteros” y que sea una palabra esdrújula me produce un gustito que me sale del pecho y se instala en los hombros). Me gustan las mariposas blancas de la suerte de @vickynnni. Me gusta que se mueran rápido y me gusta que su vuelo sea impredecible.
Aunque he de decir que me gustan más las polillas. Y en realidad, prefiero los escarabajos.
Tomadas en la “Schmetterlinghaus” de Viena con mi Nikon D90
me imagino cayendo contigo
dando vueltas en el viento
una hoja amarilla de un otoño que dura para siempre
Un simpático trepador azul con un trocito de comida en la boca en la silla de Felipe II sirve para coronar un día maravilloso de colores otoñales con @vickynnni.
Tomadas con mi Nikon D90 el 18 de Noviembre de 2023.
To spread everything out; were I able to pull it all apart, I could get into the pores that would surely appear like when you stretch rubber.
They would probably be dirty, like under your fingernails when you’ve been outside for a while. Or maybe they would be squeaky clean, sterile and antiseptic. I think that would be even more concerning. Dirt has to go somewhere. If it isn’t going there, that means it’s probably going somewhere else.
Lately it’s been hard finding inspiration for creativity. I have an urge to express myself in one way or another, but I can’t seem to articulate anything of any particular worth to me. I guess just writing things out helps, even if what comes out isn’t as interesting or as funny or as moving.
Anyways, here’s a picture I took with my phone of a butterfly on a mushroom. I find it interesting because the mushroom’s cap is shaped like an almost-perfect cardioid, a shape that appears sometimes in math and sometimes in nature. It’s a weird world we live in. I feel this more and more lately, and it’s both a greatly reassuring and a greatly disturbing feeling - and I don’t think I ever want to lose it.
A relic of a forgotten war, the empty husk of this low rank robotic sentry dutifully watches on, its depleted energy core long scavenged.
To spread everything out; were I able to pull it all apart, I could get into the pores that would surely appear like when you stretch rubber.
They would probably be dirty, like under your fingernails when you’ve been outside for a while. Or maybe they would be squeaky clean, sterile and antiseptic. I think that would be even more concerning. Dirt has to go somewhere. If it isn’t going there, that means it’s probably going somewhere else.