Unserious postmodern paintings.

The spider had been listening for hours. Not to the ticking clock or the wind in the eaves, but to the quiet…

The cricket had been chosen for its lack of movement, which the scientists interpreted as spiritual readiness. They placed it on the…

Reginald had always felt out of place in the tidal flats, but the human world, with its absurd rituals and ill-fitting tweed,…

The grouse had expected more from the acorn. Not in size, not in taste — but in timing. It had watched it…

It didn’t ask to be digitized. One Tuesday, after scavenging a crumb near the modem, it woke up with its left antenna…

The mallard had been reliable for exactly three Tuesdays in October, which was enough for the night shift clerk to leave it…

The glowworm had been told it was special, once, by a moth who mistook its glow for a signal. It had waited…

The potoo had been told, by a passing moth who claimed to have read the manual, that stillness was the highest form…

The barnacle had been invited to the 3:15 p.m. tea, but tidal currents and a sudden urge to re-evaluate its adhesive choices…

The seedeater had spent three hours verifying the exact number of seeds on the sill—forty-three, not forty-two, not forty-four—each one inspected for…

The crocodile had been promoted to Intern after a clerical error in the Department of Wetland Liaisons mistook its application for a…

For exactly seventeen minutes, the mole was the most famous creature in the world. It had not done anything remarkable—just appeared, motionless,…