
once I partied my face off

dancing topiary

we don’t tell no secrets

kitty tries to hide from the ambient drama

it’s a walking star with a foot on the ground and dressed in sky

clowns are scary

she sat suddenly

The birthing of a storm. The entry to a whelk. the inchoate fog of repressed awareness. Take your pick. Or add your own.

God bless you all whether you like it or not.

here’s a story about a worried dog fairy crossing a stone bridge to deliver a slice of pizza. Will he get there in time?
Kate Greenough's daily drawings