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ulveheksa.bsky.social
Andromeda
@ulveheksa.bsky.social
670 followers 1.6K following 330 posts
Dirt & Bone Witch. Feral. Woods. Ocean. Words. Books. The Weird. Poet. Magpie at heart. Mother of Squirrels and Magpies and Crows. Odd, strange little thing. 🇳🇴 🐻❄️🐭

🐺 Mor til Ailo 🐺.

❤️ Kona til @hvittingen.bsky.social ♾️
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dptbirder.bsky.social
I will never get tired of trying to infinitely inch closer to hummingbirds

I have a few food spots around county where the birds simply ignore me and go about their business

I will watched this male over a period of 20 minutes as I repositioned my self closer and closer…

📷🌿🪶 Anna’s Hummingbird
Anna’s hummingbird in flight macro frontal portrait
November 14, 2025 at 3:17 PM
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beautifulbizarre.net
Oh I love the feeling of this painting titled “Little Yaga” by Katie Gamb from her THROUGH WOODLANDS DARK solo at @archenemyarts.bsky.social! I spy with my little eye so many emotional subtleties. What do you notice and experience?

www.archenemyarts.com/throughwoodl...

#beautifulbizarre #art
November 14, 2025 at 1:30 PM
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hookland.bsky.social
You can walk and after two miles of tangled lane that's untroubled with being on the Ordinance Survey, find a feral church. These are the chapels beyond bishops, untethered from parishes. Existing in green communion, their gathered ghosts sing wild hymns. – #DAKilroy, 1982
November 14, 2025 at 1:51 PM
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hermiteveryday.bsky.social
She gave up the science, questioning the magic. She hoarded words until she became rich in stories. Occasionally she would benevolently hand out poems, tipping words into an outstretched mind. Myths that grew in her thoughts like moss, logic packed away and forgotten.

#vssdaily rich
#vss365 science
November 14, 2025 at 1:59 PM
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mariapopova.bsky.social
A Life of One's Own – an uncommonly insightful 1930s field-guide to self-possession and the art of knowing what you really want, inspired by Virginia Woolf's classic www.themarginalian.org/2017/10/11/a...
A Life of One’s Own: A Penetrating Century-Old Field Guide to Self-Possession, Mindful Perception, and the Art of Knowing What You Really Want
“I did not know that I could only get the most out of life by giving myself up to it.”
www.themarginalian.org
November 14, 2025 at 6:03 PM
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stronglines.bsky.social
#lighthouse #coastline #seascape #bwphotography #selectivecolor #portlandbill
A dramatic coastal scene in black and white with selective red on the lighthouse. Waves crash against dark, jagged rocks under a heavy, overcast sky. Portland Bill lighthouse stands on the left side of the frame, its red band and light the only color in the image.
November 14, 2025 at 7:20 PM
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sarahmillswrites.bsky.social
Some days, it feels like stars exist because a child/ tossed up glitter and said "night sky"✨

sharing a poem of mine from 2023, published in HAD
I Look at Pictures of Birds When I’m Too Sad to Go Outside I want to let you into this poem. I want us to breathe the same air. Some days, everything makes me sad— sitting down to put sneakers on, how late I came to appreciate birds, glitter. Once, I gave young students containers of glitter for an art project and for weeks it was in my hair, my cereal. My sister laughed and said never leave children unsupervised with glitter. Some days, it feels like stars exist because a child tossed up glitter and said night sky. I think I would’ve been a good mother but then I remember the glitter incident, or the time my nephew’s finger got stuck in a toy and my own finger hurt for weeks. I watched a time-lapse video of plants moving in a 24-hour period and it looked like interpretive dance so I filled my home with philodendrons. I don’t know what I’m trying to say here but I don’t want to lose you so I’ll offer this image: I saw a photo of a tree teeming with grandala birds, bright blurs of cobalt, and I wonder how their nests would sparkle if there was glitter among the twigs and leaves. I know my lungs will hurt if I let myself think about this, but I do.
November 14, 2025 at 8:51 PM
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hermiteveryday.bsky.social
Things left behind. ✨
A dried seed head.
November 14, 2025 at 1:37 PM
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robinstanfill2.bsky.social
Silence
November 6, 2025 at 2:22 AM
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joannechocolat.bsky.social
And this morning the Shed is a fairy ring of toadstools on the village green…
November 14, 2025 at 7:39 AM
ulveheksa.bsky.social
Mood.
"I am too a Merry Sunshine," insisted Ramona, but she got down from the table and ran out of the room.
November 14, 2025 at 6:24 AM
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papawoof.bsky.social
November 14, 2025 at 3:25 AM
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kittenstrudel.bsky.social
Władysław Ślewiński, Woman Combing her Hair, oil on canvas, 1909
October 28, 2025 at 10:27 PM
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robertsnickc.bsky.social
…And the sun rose dripping, a bucketful of gold.

~ Edna St. Vincent Millay, from ‘Recuerdo’ (1919)

#Photography, Edna St. Vincent Millay, 1913.
November 13, 2025 at 2:32 PM
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artologica.net
Squirrel of the Day for November 13, 2025 catching a little sun on her face 😊 #sqrlpix
gray squirrel standing in half-profile
November 13, 2025 at 2:15 PM
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tamsinwilson.bsky.social
Portal 18. A naturally occurring portal taking you god knows where... only the trees know. Looks inviting on the other side though doesn't it. Somewhere in Staffordshire.
Landscape colour photo of a gloomy woodland. Brown leaves on the ground in the middle, green bushes and overgrowth on the left and right, and two stone outcrops like huge walls on either side of the photo. The gap between the stones is at least 10ft high and would probably fit a car through. Either side of the stone two trees have straight grown up next to the stone, framing the path in the middle.
November 13, 2025 at 12:38 PM
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irishali13.bsky.social
Poem For your Thursday - 🔥
~ Jessica L. Walsh
When My Daughter Tells Me I Was Never Punk
—I say, hon, my being alive is punk. I made my life out of grudges when I saw the odds placed against me,
when my role was to marry a man who'd kill me/ How did I get here? I say, By my fucking teeth.
WHEN MY DAUGHTER TELLS ME I WAS NEVER PUNK I say, hon, my being alive is punk. I made my life out of grudges when I saw the odds placed against me, when my role was to marry a man who'd kill me and give me my hot young death, a guy named Charles who would have and nearly did—the day I said fuck you and threw his keys in the snow? That was punk. When I called a nice guy who'd loved me steady and thought what if I can try staying alive, that was punk; when I had my last drink and surrendered the scene, that too was punk, and yes I miss the me who would be dead because I was a bottle rocket, a pipe bomb of a good time but my being alive is the middle finger I never put down— I did not let these days go by, I clawed each one from dirt. When I get my nails done I am cleaning weapons, when I buy food, when I fill the tank, I am threatening to survive long enough to piss off a million awful people to be alive in spite of, I am promising to stay flagrantly alive: This is my beautiful house. I am this beautiful wife. How did I get here? I say, By my fucking teeth.
November 13, 2025 at 1:01 PM
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thegardenvsw.bsky.social
And some Cyclamen hederifolium, both pink and white coming up through their beautifully marbled leaves which, if you look carefully, are seen to be never quite the same from plant to plant. They surprise with their infinite variety. #gardening
November 13, 2025 at 12:16 PM
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racheldeering.bsky.social
Thursday plans:
🖼️ Sarah Lynne
A painting of three women gathered around a campfire in a natural. The three women are in long white dresses. One woman on the left, in a white hood/cloak, is reaching towards a butterfly. The central woman, seen from behind with long reddish hair, has her arms outstretched towards the fire. The woman on the right wears a black witch's hat and a black cloak over her white dress, also gesturing towards the fire. A fox is standing near the woman on the left, and a black witch's hat is on the ground near the central woman. The background features a large, grey mountain and rolling hills under an evening sky with a crescent moon and an owl perched on a bare tree branch. A small, rustic cabin with smoke coming from the chimney is visible in the distance on the right, connected by a dirt path. The foreground is filled with grass, small plants, mushrooms, and a few butterflies.
November 13, 2025 at 5:18 AM
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artsofexistence.bsky.social
"Not that I want to be a god or a hero. Just to change into a tree, grow for ages, not hurt anyone."
― Czesław Miłosz
November 12, 2025 at 11:47 PM
ulveheksa.bsky.social
Sunrise: 8:10 a.m.
Sunset: 3:57 p.m.

🇳🇴❤️
Corner of a white house against a blue sky. A bird sits on the roof. There is a green hedge along the bottom of the photo and some bare branches at the the left of the photo.
November 13, 2025 at 12:15 PM
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openculture.bsky.social
Tasting History: A Hit YouTube Series Shows How to Cook the Foods of Ancient Greece & Rome, Medieval Europe, and Other Places & Periods
Tasting History: A Hit YouTube Series Shows How to Cook the Foods of Ancient Greece & Rome, Medieval Europe, and Other Places & Periods
The food of our ancestors has come back into fashion, no matter from where your own ancestors in particular happened to hail.
www.openculture.com
November 12, 2025 at 7:59 PM
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josephfasano.bsky.social
One of the cruelest things about mental illness is that it can isolate very loving, empathetic people from the most intimate relationships. I wrote this poem when I was in a psych ward, thinking about others—known and unknown—who have carried life this way. 🖤
Written on Van Gogh's Wall I was here. I will walk out through the deep leaves of October and kneel there with the cold foal of my shadow and try to send it off into the river. I will leave my grief like long and polished oars. Listen. I did feel joy. Then razed it. And you, my friend, you who find these small words to erase them, you who wear the gold ring of a new life, pause here and look up through casement, the barest branches singing into winter. If I could choose between a great work and a great love I would choose what is hardest for my impossible heart. I know. I know what I will say at the terrible end: The sadness, the hell will last forever. This is hell, this is what hell is: to be born so wild for love with a beast in you that keeps it from your door. —Joseph Fasano
November 12, 2025 at 9:14 PM
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artsofexistence.bsky.social
"Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart."
― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore
#BookSky
November 13, 2025 at 1:23 AM
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beautifulbizarre.net
Woooooow I would wear this everywhere, proudly. Gorgeous handmade dress by Frieda Lepold inspired by cathedral ceilings and windows.

#beautifulbizarre #contemporaryart #wearableart #artinspo #cathedraldress #tullegown #customdress #fashioninspo #art
November 13, 2025 at 1:30 AM