Sun Araw. Leaves Like These.

These ferns come from a world where sunlight fights against easily giving up its treasures, and carnivorous plants gnaw their meat out of thin air. Each leaf is a tooth, and the forest resounds with the crunch of their chewing. It's a wilderness vastly indifferent to your presence. If it consumes you, there's no malice. Perhaps it eats as a form of obscurantist ritual, licking away knowledge it wants to keep hidden. Or perhaps it's not eating at all, but slowly masticating its way forward on muscle-teeth, the scrape and clack of a million bony feet rhythmically blurring together into an ominous, wheezing purr.

Under a hood of shadows deep as an ocean trench, there is the churning pulse of rushing green blood. A tendril sketches dancing hieroglyphs into the soil. Max Ernst would feel at home here.


Leaves

Sun Araw at Not Not Fun