Books were only one type of receptacle where we stored a lot of things we were afraid we might forget. There is nothing magical in them at all. The magic is only in what books say, how they stitched the patches of the universe together into one garment for us.
— Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451 (via bookmania)
The mushrooms in this neck of the woods are not poisonous, simply knitted. A case of yarn bombing by Leigh Martin.
Descreet yarn-bombin is just as beautiful as the big bombastic one.
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