Rose Paris

“Further back, cooling ponds strewn with rusted pipes were busy with teals and moorhens. An old concrete streetlight stood incongruously in the woods beyond: some ravaged Narnia. Jays catcalled overhead.”
― Cal Flyn, Islands of Abandonment: Life in the Post-Human Landscape

“Who'd storm a rainbow? Lay siege to elsewhere?”
― Greer Gilman

“In this, a heap of books, sea-ruined. Mooncalf'd bindings, white and swollen as a drowned face. Warp and white-rot, skin on skin. Down thou sit'st and try'st to pry the boards, to turn the bleared and cockled pages. Here, a drawing of a hand, anatomized. A riddle in geometry. A fugue of spiders.

And behind a faded arras-ghosts of roses, greensick blue- a bright dark closet full of wonders and dust.”
― Greer Gilman, Cloud and Ashes: Three Winter's Tales

“Will there be bears?"
"There will be two: white bears, as soft and heavy as snow, as fell as January, one beyond the other, like the mountains on the edge of Thule. They have waked. There is old fire in their bellies; yellow moonlight in their seeking eyes; blood only in their minds.”
― Greer Gilman, Exit, Pursued by a Bear