The Ninety Ninth Story

 Once upon a time there was a rabbit. He was a brave rabbit. This was a mistake. The hawks, however, thought it was great.

the Ninety Eighth Story

Tonight walking out to my car, the fireflies did their best to act as stars, taking advantage of the cloud cover to make their own brand new constellations, with lightning and just a hint of remaining dusk creating, for just a moment, every few minutes, an image not unlike distant nebulae as a backdrop. The world is beautiful, and it is beautiful regardless of whether we notice it.
The world doesn't care about us. It doesn't paint the sky in the hopes of making a living off the framed and matted print. It doesn't sculpt driftwood to make the building of an osprey's nest easier. It doesn't regulate the orbit of spheres to give a mathematician joy. The world is beautiful and it has always been beautiful and it will always be beautiful. But I sure hope, selfishly, that its beauty will contain fireflies for a good long while yet.

Here's a Secret: I aspire to the selfishness that the world has in creating beauty.

The ninety Seventh Story

once, when I was staying at a fancy hotel for an installation, I came back to my room to find that the cleaning staff had tucked a pillow behind my teddy bear's head, opened the TV cabinet, and placed the remote within paws reach for him. These little efforts are beautiful

the Ninety Sixth Story

The author of the sticker stories, caught in the act.

The Ninety Fifth Story

Once upon a time there was an octopus with a camera. He worked hard and sent in his CV, and eventually he got that job with National Geographic he had always dreamed of.

The Ninety Fourth Story

Once upon a time there was a willow growing on the side of a stream. She loved watching the ducks and was, truly, content.

The ninety Third Story

Once upon a time there was a daydream who was scared that the person thinking her would get distracted; she just kept getting more and more exciting, but she knew. She knew.