photo journal

aspen eyes

jillian rose

He would thrust his nose into the cool wood moss, or into the black soil where long grasses grew, and snort with joy at the fat earth smells; or he would crouch for hours, as if in concealment, behind fungus-covered trunks of fallen trees, wide-eyed and wide eared to all that moved and sounded around him.
— Jack London, The Call of the Wild

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