These writings are not born at a desk.
They begin in the body - in movement, breath, sound.
They emerge after walking the land, voicing in the wind, listening with skin.
Each piece is shaped by felt experience, not just thought, but sensation, memory, and place.

Before words, there are marks, rough sketches, scribbles, lines that honour the not-yet-literal, the part of knowing that can't be captured in language.

Then comes the red ink.

Red, like blood, for life, for lineage, for the wild pulse beneath all things.
Red, for every correction once made by teachers - for all that was too much, too strange, too feeling.
Red, as a reclamation of voice.
As a vow to write from the body, not for approval, but to be heard.

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This is a collection of field notes.
Not just observations, but offerings.
Traces of a life lived close to the edge, in kinship with land, creature, and myth.
A return to instinct, to imagination.

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Here, you are invited into the in-between spaces.

Between voice and silence, wildness and tenderness, body and word.
These notes are for the shapeshifters, the sensitives, the ones who feel too much and still choose to stay open.
For those listening for the howl beneath it all.