wild and precious things

An open, linen-textured notebook in a warm ivory tone lies on a smooth oak desk, its pages filled with small, neat, hand-drawn constellations and tiny ink sketches of seashells, leaves, and distant mountains. A slim brass fountain pen rests across the center fold, reflecting soft highlights. Late afternoon golden light streams in from an unseen window, illuminating dust motes in the air and creating a gentle gradient of light across the pages. The background fades into a blurred hint of stacked books and a ceramic cup, all in warm neutrals. Shot from a slightly elevated angle with a shallow depth of field, in clean photographic realism, the mood is reflective, intimate, and quietly inquisitive, inviting a sense of curiosity and everyday wonder.

The story

A wandering notebook of curiosity, tracing everyday miracles in art, science, travel, and ordinary life.

About

I write to remember that the world is stranger, kinder, and more astonishing than the headlines suggest. This tiny corner of the Internet collects the small, bright moments that recalibrate my attention toward wonder.

Read on

A single, small wildflower with dew-speckled petals in soft lilac and white, emerging from a crack in a weathered stone path. The surrounding stones are mottled gray and moss-flecked, with fine grains and tiny pebbles visible. Early morning natural light falls at a low angle, casting elongated, gentle shadows and causing the droplets to sparkle like tiny stars. The background dissolves into a soft bokeh of muted greens and browns, suggesting a quiet garden beyond. Photographed at eye level with a shallow depth of field in photographic realism, the composition places the flower on the lower third, creating a contemplative, sophisticated mood of quiet wonder and resilience.

Green grasshopper perched on a detailed green leaf — A vibrant green grasshopper rests on a textured green leaf outdoors

This summer day

Wild and precious things started as a promise to notice one surprising detail each day.

The name is from a favourite poem of mine:

This summer day by Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Begin here