I redrawn this meme and only then noticed that Illinois literally stands exactly the same
translate: “and I'm a fucking bitch today”
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Alexander Calder’s Flamingo.
Chicago, 2017
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Such an alluring vintage gentleman. Love he's bowtie ❤
via backintimemachine
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Ozinga Field, Crestwood, Illinois, USA
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I was excited to find them on shelves! Except Sasha she was online ordered. The best feeling is being able to buy a whole line in 1 day. I remember using my whole summer work program check that was only about $140 to buy the Winter Wonderland line. My cousin was visiting & my Aunt needed to do a Target run surprisingly the Winter Wonderland line was there. I forgot how I was sneaky enough to buy them without my Aunt knowing. She was always in my business about what I bought with my money & would’ve lost it if she saw it was Bratz.
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Illinois Ghosts
There are ghosts that tread these fields. They remember a time when they could dance with the grasses among birdsong and starlight. Now they twirl dust skirts to the sounds of lonely wind and roaring engines.
Soon these field will be green with corn again, for a season. Tall enough to lose yourself in. Tall enough to hide who knows what.
Corn once meant home, and hot meals, and comfort here. It was not meant to feed machines or dominate the horizon.
What did this place look like when corn meant home? It has been home to more generations of farmers than of consumers, of product buyers. For a thousand years people have grown and reaped corn, laughing over hot bowls of its soup and despairing at failed crops. And there are crops even older than corn that still grow here. But now the people only know these most ancient companions as weeds and food fit for squirrels.
This land has known many many more generations of hunters than both consumers and farmers combined. The hunters knew the other shapers that shared these fields and woods then. You see their bones in the hillsides and the echoes of their hunger in the ways plants still grow here. The trees still make thorns fit to repel mammoths, and fruits to entice the long lost giants. What might people learn from living in the footsteps of such long lost relatives? Can we still learn from them? These giant ghosts the land still remembers. You can hear it whisper their stories when you listen.
We almost lost all the giants that show us how a prairie can be home, but the buffalo are beginning to return. People care enough to help them. Can we be humble enough to let them care for us again?
Does the land feel more like home when you plant seeds, or when you trust it to provide what forage and prey is needed? It does not feel homely when it has been dominated beyond recognition. It no longer provides all you need, and the seeds do not become food. The ghosts dance in the dusts of dry fields, their stories of how to make a home here quieter every year.
I dream of a land where cornfields mean home. Summer skies will be lit with stars and summer fields mirroring the skies, lit by fireflies. We will listen to stories almost lost, and find our way to share the land with its ghosts. And far far in the future, we will join them to dance in grasses and wildflowers
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