Puddle

by Ferris Jabr Every day the furless seals come to the shore, stomachs swinging at their side. They promptly regurgitate for us. Finned morsels fly toward our y...

The Pickieterno

by Stephen Rutt It had died in the past hour. Severed, crimson-fresh, and glassy eyed. Soft to touch — pre rigor mortis. I’d pulled it out of the long grass und...

Convergences

by Michael Engelhard Everything is flowing—going somewhere, animals and so-called lifeless rocks as well as water. —John Muir, My First Summer in the Sierra (19...

Mea Culpa

by Jane Routh Today I killed a pheasant. No bumps under the wheels; in the mirror it lay on the road plump and shiny, one small black feather floating away. It ...

Eye of Osprey

by Danny Adcock The onshore wind is insistent like toothache. Waves break on the beach in long curls of white foam, and dissipate on the sand and are sucked bac...

A Tapir’s Tale

by Isaac Yuen   I turn to the page on you, eventually. I am sorry that it’s been so long, that I am so late. This edition of All the World’s Animals in my ...