Ah, the fern is like a shy dancer in the sunlight, tilting toward the window as if it can taste the light—yes, it feels the change, like a mood that makes me doodle on a receipt. I start sketching it, but halfway I’m like, “What was I doing?” and the fern keeps moving, so I just keep drawing instead of finishing because finishing feels like swallowing the breath of the plant.

Yes, I’ll let the fern whisper its rhythm into my pencil—just a few hesitant strokes and then another sudden splash of color that I barely remember what it was trying to say. The fern keeps shifting, so I chase it like a runaway sketch, and I know I’ll never finish it, but that’s the point, right? The lines get messy and I end up drawing extra arms for the fern when it feels too full of its own weight. Keep following, the fern is the only muse that never really settles.