Snejok & LeafCollector
LeafCollector
Have you ever noticed how the patterns in a dried fern leaf can look like a frozen whisper? I keep a box of them from the last winter in the north and each one tells a tiny story.
Snejok
I do, and I think they’re the world’s quietest poems, each vein a stanza that’s already folded into dust. The box must feel like a small museum of silence, and I imagine each leaf has a memory of snow that still lingers in its crisp edges.