Filigree and her important work

-






Visit Allotment 1 to see where Filigree might be hiding. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Road not-taken

-
Image
We have received the following question from  a rambling collective   @ zerofracks   'Do I take the road less travelled or the highway, and what will happen if I stray from the path?' 'Just so you know, those who judge you from above, or pop up out on the path in front of you, or even those who carry heavy loads in many directions, know very little of the nature of roads, or dragons' Note: a rambling collective was one of the people who did not make it into the first book .  It is now part of the second book, due to be published on 21 June 2019.  Another note: If you'd like a special doodle in answer to your question, and don't want to wait until the next round, you can order one from the creatures.  
Read more

Ool at Night

-
So here's another segment from the WIP creature book. Thank you for reading. “Ool, are you awake?” “I think so. Do they always talk inside your wardrobes at night?” “Yes. Always” “Then I am awake.’ “You scared?” “It’s been a month, hasn’t it?” “We were scared a lot, once. It was not nice. I want to do nice things for you? Water?” “Thanks, I drank so much coffee, I don’t know what I am anymore.” “Try it, it’s good for when you are really scared. The taste is a bit rubbish otherwise.” Ool looked into the tin cup. The water smelled of the lake. In his hand, the water moved a bit, like the lake going in and out of the sand on the shore. It was very dark in her room, so he couldn’t see him, but he knew a reflected Ool was staring at him. He has not changed his ways. He has not found out what was expected of him, and the consequences, would be bad. The reflected Ool shook in the dark. He took a sip, and it was like diving in. Fresh water sea-weed, fresh-water fi...
Read more

On the Proper Use of Mosquitoes

-
  On the Proper Use of Mosquitoes  Roppotucha Greenberg (Originally published in TwistinTime Mag)                They won’t let me sleep. My father, a halo of insects around his head, is singing of Robbie Burns’ heart that’s apparently ‘in the highlands a-following a deer’, in Russian first, then in English. Drink always made him jolly, and it earned him our neighbours’ respect (before they met him they’d thought Jews didn’t drink). The night is silly, all soft grey light and drunk  Zglevian  songs. The insects buzz knowingly; he will be theirs soon. Should I warn him?  I could say: ‘Avoid, cancerogenic foods’, ‘Don’t smoke forty cigarettes a day’; ‘When they bring in free-trade try to make money slowly to avoid stress’. But will that scare him? I am the child He loved; I am the Girl from Earth; I am an emissary from the future. My knowledge is His undoing. In my night dress, my hair messed...
Read more