The Mountain — Gorillaz

I’ve always loved Gorillaz’ music, and was delighted to see their comeback with this album. I was particularly blown away by the short film they released with it, a marvel of hand-drawn animation and storytelling. The title track nearly brought me to tears. It’s just so beautiful, and revived a little joy in me after a long while.

I strongly recommend watching the full album playlist on YouTube, starting with the short film. Turn off the phone, give the music a chance to put you into a trance. Gift yourself 30 minutes of joy.

EPIC Radio — Eric Prydz

Eric Prydz, my longtime favorite artist, returned from a long period of silence with episode 25 of his radio show/podcast EPIC Radio. It features a lot of new tracks that I’m really excited to see released. If you like progressive, electronic, and tech house music, you’ll love this. (Oh, and if you want more Eric Prydz recommendations, just reply and let me know!)

A few short stories:

The Dream of a Ridiculous Man — Fyodor Dostoevsky

A wonderful and fascinating short story. It explores the inner dialogues of a man who has given up on life, and the dream that makes him question everything. (You can read it for free online; try this link through Gustavus Adolphus College.)

Animapod by Kite Marsh

A lovely tale told from the perspective of an octopus’ tentacles. It’s published in a lit mag I’ve fallen in love with, Plott Hound, which focuses entirely on animal fiction. It really is masterfully written.

The Plagiarist by Hollis Seamon

This is a moving story about the dynamic between a professor with a serious health issue and the plagiarizing student she has to punish. It’s published in Bellevue Literary Review, a lovely literary organization which “probes the nuances of our lives in illness and in health.”

And finally, the thing I (surprisingly) didn’t love:

East of Eden by John Steinbeck

I spent the first month of 2026 reading this mammoth book. I enjoyed parts of it, but overall was disappointed. I’m definitely in the minority, as it seems to be universally adored. I expected to love this book because I enjoyed his other works, like Of Mice and Men and The Pearl. I guess I just prefer his shorter works.

The book is divided into four parts, and I absolutely loved the first part. It felt like every chapter was an incredibly well-written short story, but sadly that’s where the joy faded for me. Soon after that, Steinbeck starts to expose his real goal for this book—to tell his chosen biblical tales through the novel. Suddenly it feels like a religious philosophy book being forced down your throat in the guise of a novel. Sure, I expected some of that given the book's title, but it really becomes the entire plot.

And then suddenly the characters are just pawns in the lessons. The dialogue is unbearable at times; people seem to speak in plot, every word serving to progress the plot rather than expose their humanity.

Ultimately, I was disappointed, but I did finish the book out of duty to Steinbeck, for all the other great writing he has given me and all of us. The Penguin Orange edition is lovely, btw.

I’m so glad I did. Sitting on my couch in silence, breathing deeply alongside thousands, felt like a rare moment of unity in this terrible period of pain.

You could tell people wanted this, needed this, desperately—the volume of traffic from people trying to join literally took the site down. The event was delayed, but it happened, and it was wonderful.

I’ve linked to the livestream recording below, so you too can sit with the monks in peace. The audio quality is a bit rough, but please bear with it and give it a watch. The talk at the end by their head monk, Venerable Bhikkhu Paññākāra, is worth the wait.

The monks offer a message of peace, patience, and loving kindness. These words are not new to us, but they hold power because of the monks’ actions. Their example amplifies their message.

Let us take the time to heed their words and honor their walk. We mustn’t let the countless footsteps of their calloused feet go in vain.

The monks are not the reason why I wanted to write to you today. At the end of the monk’s talk, a member of the crowd asked, “Where is Aloka?” Everyone in the audience cheered at this question. I felt a bit embarrassed that I had no idea who Aloka was. I’m so glad I took the time to find out.

What a journey it has been to discover the beautiful creature known as Aloka the Peace Dog. His story is incredibly inspiring. In the words of the head monk Bhikkhu:

“Aloka wasn’t born in comfort. He was once a stray, wandering the streets of India, surviving day by day. And then he found the Venerable Monks. For over 100 days, this little stray walked alongside them, every step of the way just like the Walk for Peace happening today. No complaints. No hesitation. Just loyalty, courage, and a spirit that refused to be broken.”

To honor Aloka, I took some time to sketch him while out on a shoreline park. I somehow forgot my paint palette at home, so I made do by working with pen and pencil, and applying a wash using the coffee-stained water from my iced mocha. We artists must make the most of what tools we have!

Aloka has quickly become an international sensation, capturing the hearts of millions. I highly recommend perusing his Instagram (@alokathepeacedog) or his other platforms, some of which have more than a million followers. (After all, what good is social media these days besides animal videos?!) It’s worth noting his accounts were only started in December of 2025, just a few months ago—a testament to how quickly people have fallen in love with him.

As I read comment after comment, I was moved by how deeply invested people had become in Aloka’s journey. People would comment with pre-emptive distress about the coming end of the walk, worrying they would no longer get updates of Aloka, practically begging the monks to keep up the posts. Aloka had become part of their routine, their family.

I began to wonder: What is it about animals that can unite us, captivate us, bring out gushing waves of love from within us, a river we didn’t know we had?

I believe animals are a window into truth. When we look at an animal, we can sense their way of life, so foreign and fascinating to us. We observe their effortless innocence, their natural beauty, and the harmony with which they coexist within a greater ecosystem.

Maybe deep down, we envy the animals. If given the choice, we might pick the guiltless path of an animal’s life, even if it meant a quicker end. If only we could be like them, and live in their wild world, then we’d be free to walk and prance and trot without worrying that every step we take harms the land.

Such is the paradox of humanity—we create the conditions that turn our very existence into a poison, and we cannot seem to undo our act, individually helpless, yet collectively harmful.

I wrote about this question years ago in my essay Why Bother, where I shared a Liz Gilbert quote about the importance of sharing, and the pain of staying silent: “Any talent, wisdom or insight you have that you don’t share becomes pain.”

But reading my old writing, it doesn’t connect with me anymore. I’m a totally different person now. Grief and loss has completely changed me.

I also wonder about the audience—you, the reader. Yes, you! Do you still read newsletters? Do you see my words, or do they simply fade into in the endless ocean of emails? How about books? Are you able to pull yourself away from the magnetic claws of the infinite scrolling feeds long enough to make it through a chapter?

The data supports my worries: As a global society, we are reading less than ever.

As a reader, it’s disconcerting. As a writer, it’s deeply discouraging.

This post by Aishwarya Roy lays out the ugly reality:

If you read even one book in 2026, you belong to an endangered species. Yep. We live in a time where attention is mined and sold back to us with a never-ending buffet of reels.

Surveys in the U.S. found that 40% of adults didn’t read a single book in 2025, and most of those who did, read only a handful, with the typical American finishing about two books last year.

This isn’t just an American quirk. Similar trends show a third to almost half of adults in other countries reporting NO books read in a year. And educators are sounding the alarm as schools cut full novels from curricula in favour of “bite-sized” digital excerpts. We skim headlines, hoard screenshots, save posts we’ll never return to, while entire lives wait patiently between two covers.

Reading has slowed down SO much that now it feels almost rebellious... to sit, to feel, to imagine without being interrupted. Oh, to stay with a thought longer than a scroll.

So pick. up. that. book. Any book. Nope, not to be productive, not to brag about it, but to remember what it feels like to be fully inside another mind, another world. One book is enough to remind you that depth still exists, and that you still do, too.”

Oddly enough, reading these depressing stats actually encouraged me to write this post. As I thought about the trends, the downward direction of literacy rates, and the increased difficulty these days to find a moment to read, I thought to myself: Maybe I can do something about it. A tiny thing. Anything.

Every year since 2017, at the end of the year I’ve shared a little post with the best books I read that year. Here I am again, to keep that tradition alive.

If any of these books speak to you just a little bit, and you end up reading it, or it gives you the spark to pick up another book you had in mind, then I will feel happy that I did something.

These are dark, depressing times. The world seems to be ending in more ways than we can count. Many of our problems are caused by egomaniacal bullies taking advantage of the ignorance of people.

Education is empowerment. Reading is rebellion.

And so I present to you my teeny tiny rebellion: A little post about books. Enjoy.

The Pearl and Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck

Steinbeck is an absolute master. I think I read Of Mice and Men a long time ago when I was a kid, but I certainly didn’t remember its impact because it really hit me this time. Both of these novels kept me captivated throughout—powerful, emotional, and heart-wrenching stories. Steinbeck does not waste a word. I love his writing. I’ve just started reading East of Eden, which is his masterpiece. I’m loving it so far. Every chapter is like a wonderful short story. I’m going to take it slow with this one, and cherish it.

What We Fed to the Manticore by Talia Lakshmi Kolluri

A stunning collection of short stories, each written from the perspective of an animal in the wild. Each story is so touching. It gives us the perspective of animals in a way that I didn’t even really know was possible. It’s inspiring to me with my own stories. I think everyone should read this book. We really all need to understand the perspective of animals, and the way she does this is just incredible.

Raising Hare by Chloe Dalton

This is the true story of a woman who fell in love with a baby hare who showed up in her backyard, and how she reimagined her life to take care of it. The way she talks about each stage, every step, every moment, every look, is so touching and so moving. As I spend time taking care of birds and animals, and think about how each tiny interaction can mean so much, her book really helped reinforce that belief, reminding me to slow down. Read more in my past newsletter on the book:

Interpreter of Maladies and The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri

Interpreter of Maladies is a set of wonderful short stories that puts you into the perspective of a South Asian immigrant coming into the United States. The Namesake is a novel that does the same on a larger scale (you might know this tale from the film adaptation.) There are many aspects to these stories that I could personally relate to, but even without that, her writing and character development make the journey more than worthwhile.

A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis

There are a lot of books on grief I read, and I’m not sure any of them really impacted me, other than this one. I suppose it’s because he’s just so authentic and raw in his portrayal of what grief is like. There are many moments where he articulates the weird, strange, and disturbing thought processes that we go through when we are suffering from grief.

The Metamorphosis and A Hunger Artist and Other Stories by Franz Kafka

I’ve heard about Kafka all my life, but somehow never read any of his works. Interestingly, it was my own writing that led me to him: In an effort to rekindle my creative writing efforts, I had sent a couple of my short stories to an editor for feedback. One of them, he said, reminded him of Kafka, and that one of Kafka’s stories, A Hunger Artist, could be a great model to work off of for the story. It was really encouraging, and gave me a bit of a boost. After that, I read everything by Kafka I could find. I love his stories. He really is a master of the short story form—he puts you deep into the thoughts of his charcaters. I have much to learn from him, and I plan to read them in more detail as I reread and revisit some of these stories over the coming months.

I hope you find a spark somewhere in this list! Oh, and do let me know: What was your favorite book of 2025?

P.S. If you’re looking for more of my book lists, you can find them all on my website bookshelf, or jump directly to each year: 2024, 2023, 2022, 2021, 2020, 2019, 2018, and 2017.

Earlier this year, I lost my mom. I’m still learning how to carry that. Looking back at my own words, they feel foreign, yet more resonant at the same time.

I’m sharing them again now — for you, and for me.

Last weekend, I attended a meditation retreat. After an hour of sitting, a loud thump broke the silence. A man had just collapsed onto the floor.

At first I thought he just fell asleep. Then he began shaking. I quickly got up and tried to help him. Another man, who just happened to be a doctor, knelt next to me. I helped straighten the man’s legs and put a pillow under his head while the doctor tried to wake him.

The man woke up. Thank God, I thought. His first words were, “Fine. I’m fine.” He said it in a strikingly casual tone, as if he had just stubbed his toe. “Did I shake?” he asked. I nodded, and another man nearby confirmed. “Damnit,” he said. “I guess it was an episode. I have epilepsy.” The man immediately tried to stand up and said, “I’ll leave. Sorry, sorry.” We kept telling him he didn’t need to apologize. He kept trying to rush out to his car and drive home. We convinced him to take it slow, to sit down, to relax. After resting a while, the man packed his things, and left.

Somehow, we continued the meditation retreat. It felt odd. All I could think about was the fainting man. Not just that he had fainted, but the way he kept apologizing. (It reminded me of a homeless man I encountered the other day. He was lying on the sidewalk, frighteningly close to the busy road. I woke him up to check on him, then bought him some food. As he took the bag from me, he kept apologizing for his appearance. He was lying on the floor without any belongings, yet his only concern was if his ragged appearance offended me. I thought of all the cruel insults strangers must have hurled his way for him to become so apologetic of himself, even under such difficult circumstances. It broke me.)

At the end of the meditation retreat, we had a few minutes to share our experience with the person sitting next to us. I spoke with an elderly woman who was attending with her husband. She told me how the fainting incident really triggered her because her husband sometimes faints during meditation too. She noted, with a hint of guilt, that she was relieved when she saw it wasn’t her husband who had fallen.

I shared with her how surreal it was to watch the man faint. Following a nudge from our meditation leader, I had been meditating with my eyes open, so I saw the whole thing unfold. Those few seconds seemed to last forever. My body felt overtaken by a sense of frozen helplessness. Only once I stood up did time resume its rapid pace. I told her about family members of mine who had suffered close calls with health issues this year, and how all this reminded me of how quickly it can all end. Just like that.

“Life is precious,” I said to her. She looked into my eyes and nodded slowly. I knew we both deeply understood each other.

When I went home, I thought about how I might write about what happened at the retreat. The feelings of helplessness as I looked upon the fainting man, the stoppage of time, the preciousness of life, and the connection of understanding I shared when I looked into the eyes of the elderly woman.

How would I describe all that? It seemed impossible.

But in the midst of all the violence and suffering right now, I really wanted to share that powerful insight with the world:

Life is precious.

I wanted to inject this nugget of human experience into the chaotic feeds of atrocities and statistics. Yet I knew that if I went into any of my social media accounts and wrote “Life is precious,” the meaning would never get across.

When someone reads “Life is precious,” they will have seen that phrase a million times in a million tweets, articles, and stories. It loses meaning, like a word that you stare at long enough for its structure to collapse, until it becomes nothing more than a mumbled jumble of letters.

We have infinite access to information, and no time to process it.

We used to spend days or weeks digesting tragic news. Now we’re expected to move on in minutes. Hours, if we’re lucky.

Sigh, cry, and keep scrolling.

We do our best to engage quickly with what we see in the little time we have. The algorithms notice our behavior and respond by promoting the quick thoughts and fast reactions even more. And so the cycle continues.

By embracing rapid communication, we have chosen to sacrifice deep understanding.

Yet it is precisely in moments like this, when emotions are hot and stakes are high, that we need to be deeply understood.

What’s the solution? The only thing I know for sure is that ignorance is not the answer—we cannot simply disconnect and turn a blind eye to what is happening. Instead, we must find a way to adapt how we communicate to match the speed of a digitally connected world.

We must learn to slow down, craft our words carefully, and listen patiently. We must defy the mindless mode imposed by our digital systems, and elevate our discourse to better understand one another.

We have to turn the information tide. Only then can we begin to bridge the understanding divide.

It won’t be easy. But we have to try.

In the end, all we have is each other.

I took a short online course on watercolor bird sketching led by Sofia Garzaran. I was tempted by Sofia’s invitation to approach sketches with the goal of letting go of perfection, keeping the sketch time short (15-30 mins), and using only a pen and water brush. I really liked that last constraint, because for a while I’ve felt overwhelmed by my own art supplies. This course was liberating.

Today I’ll share some of my favorite watercolor sketches I did for the course. In my next newsletter, I’ll share sketches with a different medium, which I did as part in the online Birdtober sketch-a-day challenge. If you enjoy these sketches, stay tuned for more!

I began with this pigeon, and was happily surprised with how well it turned out. I don’t normally like the look of pen outlines with watercolor—they can detract from the loose fade of the water effects. But for sketches like this, if you leave gaps in the lines and whitespace in the colors, it can have a really nice effect. Whitespace (or negative space) is such a simple yet powerful tool that can totally change the impact of drawings.

Here’s a little process video too! (I’ve been sharing a lot of behind the scenes on drawing process lately on my Instagram @salmanscribbles.)

@salmanscribbles

Salman Ansari on Instagram: "diving into @printyourbird’s new c…

Next up: A song sparrow, singin his heart out. While taking a photo of my sketch, I loved the little rainbow and strong shadow the sunlight was casting on it. I thought it was so neat how I could use the light as part of the composition itself. This is the kind of fun stuff you can do with traditional media, playing with the physicality of the piece itself:

When I drew this crow, at first I didn’t love how loose I got with my pen lines, but once it was done, it really added to the ‘sketchy’ feel along with the watercolor. I think this one’s my favorite of the bunch:

A very serious woodpecker (irritated by his extremely loud cousin, Woody.)

A barn swallow: (Or, perhaps, Batman in disguise?)

Last but most certainly not least, a pheasant. This bird is the life of every party, they have all the audacity, and yes, they did that.

By the end of the course, I had finished my first watercolor sketchbook! I’m really proud of this milestone, and hope to slowly use up all the sketchbooks I have lying around (a man can dream.)

There’s something really special about a physical sketchbook (or journal, diary, planner, etc.) I really like looking at it, holding it, flipping through it. It’s something I never did with my art on Procreate, despite having drawing hundreds of sketches on my iPad. I’m really glad I tried traditional art after starting with digital—it’s been a real game-changer for me in terms of enjoying my art.

I made a little sketchbook tour video, alongside some views of my backyard birds, which I take care of in memory of my mom:

@salmanscribbles

Salman Ansari on Instagram: "#sketchbook tour! some of my recen…

Until next time,
—Salman Ansari

I watch them scamper back and forth along the fence. Racing to the right, then tiptoeing back, their mouths stretched open to the limit, stuffed with a nut treasure, determined to bury it as soon as possible.

I admire their dedication to choosing the perfect spot. They sometimes choose my backyard to bury a nut, and I’ll watch them spend up to an hour sampling the soil in different places. Pawing this, gnawing that. It must be the perfect place, fit for this perfect nut.

Once I saw a squirrel stand over his chosen spot, nut in hand. He rolled it round and round with his little claws, gnawing it for unknown reasons.1 It seemed he was whispering to it, reciting a prayer to keep his treasure safe.

Have you ever wondered what happens to all the nuts squirrels bury? I have.

Turns out, they forget about more than half of them. Yes, really! It’s no wonder too, given how many they’d need to remember—gray squirrels, for example, bury anywhere from three to ten thousand nuts per season. They practice what is called ‘scatter hoarding,’ distributing their treasures in various spots throughout their territory.

Now comes the interesting part: These forgotten nuts do not just disappear. They grow into oak trees. And so the distribution of oak trees, the spreading of their seed, and in turn, the flourishing of forests, is all thanks to the forgetfulness of a squirrel!2

Who knew such a tiny creature could create such a giant?

So the next time you see a squirrel, do not wrinkle your eyebrows in annoyance, for they are the very reason you are shaded where you stand.

Remember them, and consider returning the favor. Offer some water in a bowl, or if like me you happen to have a bird bath, put something next to it so squirrels can get a drink.

It’s the least we can do to honor these little wizards that wander our fields. The oak trees they’ve planted have kept us all cool for centuries.

P.S. You might have noticed: I’m back on Substack. It was a decision made mostly out of exhaustion—I’ve been having issues with spam subscribers on Buttondown, and after many months of working with their team to fix it, they still haven’t resolved it, and well, I’m tired. Also, Substack is free, and it really doesn’t make sense for me to pay Buttondown $25/month for this free newsletter. So, here we are again. I must admit it’s kind of nice to be back on the platform where I started writing almost six years ago, in the innocent before times of 2019:

Little did I know how much the world would change, only a few months later…

Until next time,
—Salman Ansari

In her memoir Raising Hare, Chloe Dalton tells the tale of her encounter with a leveret (a baby hare) she found outside her home, and the journey she went through to save it, raise it, love it.

Before the hare, Chloe was barely ever home, focusing all her energies on her high stakes role as a political advisor. After it settled into her home, she never left the house.

Chloe was told by wildlife experts that the leveret would not survive in her care. It did. She was told it could never return to the wild. It did. In fact, the hare lived a double life—resting in Chloe’s home and garden by day, wandering the wild woods by night.

Chloe’s descriptions of the rabbits touched me deeply. Her writing is an act of love for hares, for wildlife, for nature as a whole.

I visited my local park and did some watercolor sketching to capture some of my favorite imagined moments of her book.

The little leveret’s white tuft:

But its winter pelt came on rapidly, including a generous ruff of fur below its throat that swelled like a mane as the weeks passed, and that it would sink its neck into while resting.

The nibbler:

It developed a fascination with seams—such as the one on the side of my trouser leg—and would nibble its way down, like a crimping iron, its teeth never biting but its grip firm, leaving a raised ridge as if the cloth had been ironed. It would do this with the edges of pillowcases, duvets, the trimming on a cushion, the end of a shoelace, the tassel on a rug. Dangling objects would receive the same attention—not in play, like a cat, but chewed with a quiet purposefulness. Likewise papers on the ground. I grew to love the gnawed edges, the leveret leaving its mark.

A hopping gymnast:

One day I unrolled a rug on the grass, with the intention of lounging on it and reading my book in the sun. By the time I returned with the book and a cushion, the hare had already laid claim to the carpet. It leapt and spun in circles upon it at high speed, staying within its borders; like a gymnast practising floor exercises.

There was a moment when Chloe first let the hare out, when she wondered if it would ever come back (it did, thankfully.) The hare turned to look at her, and that glance meant everything.

I fell so in love with her hare that I was afraid to finish the book. I am extra sensitive these days, after losing my mom. I knew this tale couldn't last forever. I knew eventually the mother hare had to die, given their lifespans are only four years, typically.

In the final chapters, I slowed down my reading to a crawl's pace. Then came the part in the story where one of the hare’s baby leverets died. And then some tractors came for harvest on the farms next door, and afterwards, to her horror, Chloe found a trail of tiny leveret corpses. At this, she turned around and left, noting:

I couldn't go any further, afraid of what I might find.

I decided to do the same, and shut the book right then and there.

You can grab a copy of Raising Hare on Bookshop.org, at your local library, or on Amazon. You might also enjoy listening to this NPR interview with Chloe: What Has a Wild Animal Taught You?

The days have been difficult, and I haven’t been writing much. I imagine some of you might be wondering, “What is this newsletter anyway? What is Quick Brown Fox?” Well, here’s a pass on that question, along with a little personal state-of-the-union:

Quick Brown Fox is the personal newsletter of Salman Ansari, an author, illustrator and software engineer. The topics he writes about evolve with his own passions and interests. QBF is not a single-topic newsletter. There are many such focused newsletters out there, but this is not one of them. For the past few years, Salman has been writing and illustrating fables with animal characters, sharing some of them in QBF. In 2024, he published a book of fables, Wandering Spirits. Since then he’s written other stories, and had an idea for another book, but after the loss of his mom he’s had to take a step back and reset. Big projects feel too overwhelming right now, so he’s taking it one small step at a time. Lately he has really taken to caring for birds in his backyard, and plans to start writing little “bird bios” with drawings and descriptions of their unique personalities. Salman also likes to share his favorite books, short films, and links on creativity. You might say the special ingredient in QBF is the element of surprise—you never quite know what he’ll share next.

So there you have it. I hope something in there interests you, but if not, no worries. You can always unsubscribe using the link at the bottom of every email I send. Either way, thanks for being here.

Onwards,
Salman

Grief is a Room

People you know come knocking on the door. They bring candles. Even the light of their little fires blinds you; your eyes are used to darkness.

They ask you questions with no answer. Some know better, and sit with you in silence. Others give you food you can’t taste.

As they each take their leave, they turn and give you a brief look, hoping you’ll join them. They shut the door gently behind them.

Their gifted candles wilt away. The darkness returns.

You sense that everyone outside is waiting on you. You hear the tapping of impatient feet, the ticking of a clock building up to alarm.

Tick tock.

“How are you?”

Tick tock.

“Are you feeling better yet?”

Tick tock.

“You’ve been in here for a while now. Isn’t it time to move on?”

Part of you wishes they’d all just leave you alone. Maybe then, the one you lost will come back. You ache for a miracle to return the missing piece to your broken puzzle, to fill the black hole in your soul, to thaw the frozen limb your brain knows is gone but your heart refuses to let go.

You wonder, more and more each day, where we go when we disappear, and whether they’ll be there waiting, if you followed them into the unknown.

All you know is, you cannot leave the room.

Not yet. Not today.

Maybe tomorrow.

I am in shock, devastated, numb, broken, empty, lost, weak. It is hard to speak to anyone. I miss her so much.

Her name was Fauzia.

(Was. The most painful word I’ve ever typed.)

My mother was an incredible woman. She was a doctor, painter, chef, philanthropist, and much more. She was my mother. She was always, always there for me. She gave me the strength and example to become the man I am today.

I flew to India in a rush, my siblings and I somehow making it through Middle East airspaces that were closed mid-flight (there just happened to be a war breaking out in the region) in time for her funeral.

I buried my mother. I cried. I stayed on to settle what I could.

When I returned home, everything was as I left it, yet nothing was the same. I think of the poet Ocean Vuong’s words on losing his own mother:

Ever since I lost her, I felt that my life has been lived in only two days. There's the today, where she is not here, and then the vast and endless yesterday where she was, even though it's been three years since. How many months and days? I only see it with one demarcation. Two days—today without my mother, and yesterday, when she was alive. That's all I see. That's how I see my life now.

I am doing my best to honor her memory in as many ways as I can. For one, I’m taking extra special care of the birds in my backyard. She always loved that I fed them, she used to say it is a special and honorable thing to take care of the birds. Now I take care of them in her name.

The very day I returned from India, I saw a bluebird visit the backyard for the first time.

It flew down to the chair in front of me and looked right at me, as if trying to speak to me.

Then it stood on this stone and tilted its head as it held my gaze.

That wasn’t just any stone. It’s the gravestone we made for my cat Scooby, who passed away a year and a half ago. To see this bluebird sit there, of all places, I could hear Mom telling me she's okay, and Scooby’s okay too. At least, that’s what I wanted to hear.

My mother has always been blessed with good health, until the last few years. When things got really bad, I went to her, stayed with her, took care of her. I got closer to her during those days than ever before.

I’m grateful I had the chance to take care of her. Knowing I showed up for her when it mattered is the only thing that gives me peace right now.

If your mother is alive, call her, visit her, hug her if you can. Now.

Do what you can today, for it may the only thing giving you peace tomorrow.

We're almost halfway through 2025. They say “time flies,” but this year has felt like a long drag through the dirt. I’m pretty sure May lasted a full calendar year.

There are so many things happening, all at once. And we’re exposed to everything, immediately, constantly. We were never meant to know this much. We’re not wired for this.

It's impossible to keep up. It's impossible to act on everything, respond to each event with full emotion every day, again and again.

And yet, we can’t ignore what’s going on. We can’t simply look away.

So what do we do?

I don’t know. But I do know we have to pace ourselves. We have to take care of ourselves. It’s no use burning ourselves to a crisp, glueing our eyes to a hellscape of scrolling. We have to remember to breathe.

If we are outraged by what’s going on, and we want to change it, we have to treat it like a marathon, not a sprint. We must stand up for what’s right, but we must also take breaks to sit down, rest, and recover.

Find the little things that keep you going. Hold onto them for dear life. We need them now more than ever.

I'm thankful for a few hobbies I've been immersing myself into lately, like tending to backyard birds and long hours of animal drawing sessions.

Another habit I've slowly stumbled my way back into is reading books. Yes, those big things full of words. No videos to stare at, no comments to peruse and no feed to scrolls. Just me and a book. Swimming in the author's world, let the current of their writing take me.

They say books let you escape to another world, but they are also a way to be more present in this one.

So here are some of my favorite books I've read this year. I hope you find one that captures you!

What We Fed to the Manticore
by Talia Lakshmi Kolluri

I loved this book. It’s a collection of animal short stories with themes of wildlife conservation, climate change, and more. The characters and their journeys are touching, heartbreaking, and at times mystifying. This is the kind of book I hope to write some day.

Of Mice and Men & The Pearl
by John Steinbeck

Steinbeck is a master. I decided to re-read Of Mice and Men, and I’m so glad I did, because wow. Such wonderful storytelling! The book follows two down-on-their-luck workers in California, and their story is tragic and moving. I followed this up with another great Steinbeck short novel, The Pearl, which I also recommend. Next on my list is East of Eden…

The Bear That Wasn't & The Possum That Didn't
by Frank Tashlin

As a child, I watched a spectacular cartoon (directed by the great Chuck Jones) about a bear who woke up from hibernation to find his cave surrounded by a factory. The workers mistake the bear for a fellow employee, and refuse to believe him when he repeatedly insists that he is, in fact, a bear. It is an absurd, hilarious and powerful commentary on the societal pressure to conform, and how easily we can lose ourselves. I only recently discovered that the cartoon was based on a book by Tashlin, and I absolutely loved it, especially the ink illustrations. I also enjoyed another of Tashlin’s books, The Possum That Didn’t (there is also a cartoon based on it.) Here’s a quick sketch tribute I did of the bear in Tashlin’s style:

The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane
by Kate DiCamillo

This middle-grade book tells the story of a proud rabbit made of china (yes, the ceramic), who finds himself lost and found again and again, until he learns how to love. It’s short, sweet, and the writing is lovely, especially how the author exposes the inner thoughts of Edward.

Ishmael & The Story of B
by Daniel Quinn

I first read Ishmael back in 2022, and wrote about it in my yearly books-of-the-year post:

“One of the most powerful stories I’ve ever read. This book was written in the 1970s, but its message is more relevant than ever. On the surface, this book is a fictional wake-up call to the pending ruin that climate change can bring us. But it’s also much more than that—Ishmael is a book that highlights the folly of the story we’ve been perpetuating as a global society. It offers us a new lens on the story of man, how we live, and how we came to be this way. The scope of this story is immense. Although it is a tale of fiction, it is grounded in historical context that ties religion to the advances of man, and tells a new story that ties them together. By the end of it, you will likely feel overwhelmed, disillusioned, and unsure of what to do about the seemingly inevitable crisis with which we are barreling ourselves toward. Thankfully, in the final pages of the book, Ishmael gives us a path for optimism. He reminds us that people can change their behavior, if enough people strive to change the minds of their peers, through stories of hope.”

I finally decided to read its sequel, Story of B, and was not particularly moved by it. I expected it would dive a bit deeper into the ideas, or provide a platform for how to apply them in the real world, as some of the reviews had suggested. I didn’t really find either.

However, it motivated me to re-read Ishmael, so in that sense, it was a success 😅 I still stand by my words about Ishmael—if you haven’t read this book, it deserves your time. It explains (and questions) a lot of the disastrous decisions we’ve made as a species in terms of our obsession with industrial farming and constant growth of food supply.

Wandering Spirits
by Salman Ansari

Last but not least, if you’re looking for a short read to kickstart your reading momentum, check out my book of fables, Wandering Spirits. I just opened up my own online store, where you can buy a beautiful signed paperback edition, which includes some lovely stickers and a bookmark. If you’ve already got a copy and enjoyed the book, grab one for a friend or family member! When you buy directly from me, you support an indie author, rather than fueling the monopoly of Amazon.

P.S. A warm heartfelt thank you to all the folks who bought a copy since I announced the store opening last week. I hope you enjoy the tales, as well as the free goodies!

I’ve just opened up an online shop: shop.salman.io. The first product is (of course) my book of fables, Wandering Spirits.

The book has been for sale on Amazon since its launch in January of last year, but this is a special new offering, only available at my store—you’ll get a signed copy of the custom-printed paperback edition, along with a fox sticker, wolf sticker, and a beautiful bookmark, packed and shipped with love by yours truly.

Buy a signed copy of
Wandering Spirits

Wandering Spirits is a short book of fables (you can finish it in a day or two) for kids and adults alike, filled with philosophical tales and whimsical illustrations. I truly think the lessons in this book can help you (or your kids, friends, and family!) I’m confident you’ll enjoy it.

These paperbacks editions are from a special print run I had done when I launched the book, working directly with a book printer in Arizona. They are higher quality materials than what you typically get from Amazon on-demand prints. I only have about forty of these editions left, so get em while you can!

I wrote, illustrated and published this book myself. By buying the book directly from me, you support indie authors instead of empowering the monopoly of Amazon.

I spent almost three years painstakingly editing every detail, working with a developmental editor, then a line editor, then a publishing team to ensure this book is the best product it could be.

If you already have a copy and enjoyed the book, consider getting it for a friend! You won’t regret it.

P.S. What else would you love to see on my store? I’ve thought about putting together some art prints to decorate your walls. Or how about some sticker packs or postcards? Let me know!

This fable is based on a short Taoist tale shared by Alan Watts in his book Way of Zen. Here it is scribbled in my journal along with a little sketch:

“The centipede was happy, quite,
Until a toad in fun
Said, “Pray, which leg goes after which?”
This worked his mind to such a pitch,
He lay distracted in a ditch,
Considering how to run.”

In the first chapter of the book, Watts describes an essential principle of Taoism—to avoid forcing things, to let things flow naturally, and embrace the way of nature.

Too often, we find ourselves stuck in overthinking mode, rather than letting our gut, intuition, and natural tendencies take over.

Now, dear friend, do not ponder this tale too much, lest you find yourself stuck in a ditch!

P.S. In case you missed it: I published an essay on my wild and wonderful experience looking into the eyes of a wolf named Keyni. I explored the history on the almost-extinction of wolves, along with the ongoing recovery efforts to save them. It’s an important story—we must understand and protect these beautiful creatures.

I looked a wolf in the eyes

The moment I looked eye to eye with a wolf, and the truth behind the ugly myths that haunted the wolves in America.

I still have goosebumps from those howls!

I had the chance to meet this majestic wolf when I visited the Colorado Wolf and Wildlife Center, a sanctuary for wolves who cannot return to the wild. The minute I entered his enclosure, Keyni approached without hesitation or fear. Immediately, I felt overwhelmed with emotion. I couldn’t stop smiling.

That wasn't the only warm welcome I received—as I entered the sanctuary, I was greeted by the mesmerizing sound of their howls:

When I showed these to some friends, a few of them were taken aback. “That’s scary! Aren’t wolves dangerous?” one asked. I smiled, and assured them it was perfectly safe.

If there’s one thing you take from this post, let it be this: Wolves pose no threat to humans. A wolf attacking a human is about as rare as a shooting star:

“In Europe and North America we only found evidence for 12 attacks (with 14 victims) of which two (both in North America) were fatal, across a period of 18 years. Considering that there are close to 60,000 wolves in North America and 15,000 in Europe, all sharing space with hundreds of millions of people, it is apparent that the risks associated with a wolf attack are above zero, but far too low to calculate.” —Are wolves dangerous to humans?

The myth that wolves attack people is a blatant lie, perpetrated by the colonists who first came to the Americas. It was then echoed and reinforced in stories, films, and cartoons.

The reality is that humans are a threat to wolves.

In the United States, wolves have been relentlessly killed almost to extermination. Thanks to the anti-wolf messaging that permeated through society, there was little protest to their killing.

Wild wolves are back in America today, thanks to a project that began in the 1990s. The Yellowstone wolf reintroduction project has been written about at length, so I won’t go into it too much, other than to say it was an incredibly successful effort. (You can read a quick timeline of the progress on this page from Greater Yellowstone.) The removal of the top predator (wolves in this case) caused elk to overgraze, causing a ripple effect on the ecosystem. By restoring wolves, the ecosystem was brought back into balance.

The Yellowstone reintroduction project has definitively proven the positive value of restoring wolves into our ecosystems.

In hopes of following the successful model of Yellowstone, there are now reintroduction efforts going on in Washington, Oregon, Colorado, and California.

During my visit to the Colorado Wolf and Wildlife Center, I was able to learn a lot more about the reintroduction efforts in Colorado and beyond. I really appreciated how transparent they were not just about the current state of things, but the ugly history of America’s assault on wolves.

I noticed there were young children present at the educational tour, and yet the guides did not hesitate to tell the truth about wolf killings, traps, and even torture incidents. They didn’t hold back. I really liked that—when we lie to our children about the failures of our past, we prevent them from learning, and enable them to repeat the same mistakes.

Wolves are beautiful, intelligent, and surprisingly human-like in nature. They live in packs similar to families, with an alpha male and female leading the group. Wolves mate for life, typically staying together for their entire lives.

They deserve our love and respect. At a bare minimum, they deserve to be safe from our destruction.

If you’d like to learn more about wolves, check out my note on wolves, where I share tons of books and documentaries on wolf history and reintroductions. Start with The Snow Wolf (available for free on YouTube), a beautiful and moving fictional documentary following the journey of a female wolf who loses her mate, and must find a way to raise her family.

And if these magnificent creatures move you as they moved me, please consider taking action to help them. Wolves in America need our help now more than ever. On top of the current government’s catastrophic assault on the National Parks, representatives are trying to pass legislation that mirrors wolf exterminations of the past.

Two actions you can take to save the wolves:

1. Support Colorado Wolf and Wildlife Center — Hopefully from this post, you got a taste of the magic of their wildlife sanctuary. But their work goes much further—they advocate for wildlife, educate the public, and help push forward crucial conservation efforts.

2. Tell Congress to vote NO on HR-845 which aims to delist gray wolves. Rep. Lauren Boebart’s misleadingly named “Pets and Livestock Protection Act” would remove wolves from the endangered species list – a move that would be catastrophic to their survival.

3. Support efforts to veto Montana’s HB-554. Representatives in Montana are attempting to introduce several bills that could cut wolf populations in half, or worse.

At times like this, with so many efforts to destroy what is good about our world, things can seem totally hopeless. But there is always hope, as long as those who care are willing to preserve what matters.

Let us take inspiration from this LA Times article published back on October 11th, 1992, Gray Wolf May Again Roam Yellowstone. In it, we hear from Renee Askins, who created a Wolf Fund to try and restore wolves to Yellowstone:

Asked how she will feel when she lets loose a howl in Yellowstone–a place she fell in love with at first sight–and a wolf answers, the normally articulate, lively Askins grew pensive. “I’ll feel like this place I love is right and whole,” she said after a long pause. “What could be a greater gift than a place like that?”

Thank you Renee, for fighting for the wolves. They went on to howl free, for many years, thanks to folks like you.

Now, it’s our turn. We must do the work to keep our wolves howling, our bison roaming, our flowers blooming.

Let us speak up, and let us be loud.

We must speak not only for ourselves, but also for those creatures who have no voice of their own.

It’s been a while since I wrote to you. I’ve been a bit blocked from publishing blogs and newsletters, not because I don’t have much to say, but because I have too much to say! March has been an eventful month with lots of wildlife adventures I want to share with you. I’m finally catching up on writing about them.

Today I want to talk to you about bison. I have a new post for you to check out:

Bison in My Backyard

A lone bison in Yellowstone stopped me in my tracks, and led me into a journey through the heartbreaking history of the American bison.​​​​​​​​​​​

I talk about my encounter with wild bison in Yellowstone as well as a herd of bison in my city’s backyard, and I share some lessons learned on the tragic history of bison in North America.

I knew not to come any closer. Not because of a posted sign, but because of the energy in the air. It was eerily quiet. I could feel the bison’s gaze resting upon me. A gentle warning to stay away.

I had always known that wild animals own their territory. But now I felt it, deep within my bones.

This was their territory. I was an intruder.

I urge you to check this one out, especially if you aren’t familiar with the story of bison in America.

In an increasingly disconnected world, we must find a way to connect with the ground we walk on.

To do so, we must understand the history of its nature, and of its animals, for they form the very Earth beneath our footsteps.

This weekend, I’ll be flying to Yellowstone for a three-day wolf-watching excursion, hosted by Yellowstone Institute. I’ve never done anything like this before—I’m really excited, a little nervous, but mostly excited.

We’ll be observing the many packs that roam Lamar Valley, wolves that have been captured in films and books over the years. My goal is not to take photos or document the experience, but simply to be present—to witness these incredible animals in their natural habitat. I expect this journey to change me in some way, and I look forward to sharing my thoughts when I return.

Notes & Sketches on Wolves

In anticipation of this trip, I’ve spent the last couple of months immersing myself in books, films, and documentaries about wolves. I compiled a list of my favorites into a new note on my site:

Read: Notes on Wolves

There are two in particular I want to highlight:

1. Film: The Snow Wolf: A Winter’s Tale (2018)

This “dramatized story shot like a documentary” follows the journey of an alpha female wolf who, after losing her partner, embarks on an epic journey to find a new home. It is stunning, heartwarming, and deeply moving.

Since I watched it, a day hasn’t gone by where I haven’t thought of her. It may be my favorite nature film of all time.

2. Book: Wild Animals I Have Known (1894) by Ernest Thompson Seton

I mentioned this book in my favorite books of 2024 post, but I want to say a bit more—especially about the first story, Lobo the King of Currumpaw. This tale of a mighty wolf who outsmarts hunters, trappers, and killers captivated me. Seton’s writing makes you root for Lobo, and I, for one, loved seeing the wolf get the better of man—for once.

To honor this story and the book, I did my own sketch of Lobo, based on the book’s lovely cover:

I also did a version with a modified background, but honestly I think I prefer the simpler white!

Lastly, I uploaded a quick video of my drawing process for the wolf. I used my favorite fountain pen, the Indigraph, along with some Copic markers. I’m mostly using watercolors these days, but felt like playing with markers again. They’re just so vibrant!

Watch: Wolf Drawing Process

Steeling Myself

Although I’ve had lots of fun sketching, this process of immersion into the struggle of wildlife has been hard. (And it’s only the beginning...)

I suspect I may have overdone it with consuming so many of these documentaries and books so quickly. It has taken a real emotional toll on me. It is overwhelming and heartbreaking to see and read about the reality of what humanity has done (and continues to do) to kill so many wolves, elk, bison… just as they have to the indigineous people of America.

I’ve realized that emotionally steeling myself will be necessary in order to do this work. I cannot escape the pain, or look away from the truth. I must empathize with and understand the plight of the animals deeply, if I am to have any hope of communing with them and channelling their message out into the world.

This will be a balancing act, and a long-term challenge. I’m committed to it.

I don’t know what my words and work will be able to achieve, but my goal is simple:

I want to be able to look a wild animal in the eye, and say with honesty, “I tried my best.”

A warm welcome to almost two hundred new subscribers that joined since my last edition! Huge thanks to Creative Mornings for featuring my work. Thanks to all of you for joining me on my creative journey—I hope you like it here. (If you’d like a look at my past writing, hop over to my blog.)

Onward!

Annual Review

For many years now, I've been doing a personal annual review at the end of the year. But last year, I skipped it—I was just too overwhelmed emotionally. One of the biggest challenges was the loss of my cat Scooby. This month marks the one-year anniversary of his passing. I still miss him every day. He was such a special cat, I had published a tribute post about him: So long, sweet Scooby.

This week, I resumed the practice and spent a full day doing a personal annual review. I used Ness Labs’ annual review template, but I’ve also used YearCompass in the past. If you’re looking to do your own review, I’d check them out.

It was a heavy process, and by the end of the day, I was mentally and emotionally exhausted. Still, I’m glad I did it.

It’s always tough to look back at things when life is heavy. But after doing it, I feel a little lighter. I feel proud for taking the time to honor what I’ve been through. If nothing else, I was able to give myself a little kudos just for getting through it.

A Year in Sketches

Recently I switched from digital journaling over to using paper and pen. I really love the process of doing it by hand.

Additionally, paper journaling has made the process of looking back more enjoyable. I often find myself flipping through my journal and smiling at what I have written or sketched. Drawing a moment really helps imprint it into my memory, and looking at past entries helps reinforce that. I feel like I’m being much more present, compared to when I just stroll through life taking the occasional photo on my phone.

I also use my journal as a space to practice animal drawing and watercolor painting, which has been really fun.

Here are a few sketches from this year:

Favorite Books of 2024

Every year, I publish a list of the best books I read that year. You can read my past lists from 2023, 2022, 2021, 2020, 2019, 2018, and 2017.

Onto this year’s favorites:

Wild Animals I Have Known by Ernest Thompson Seton — A book I won’t soon forget. Each story offers an intimate portrait of the author’s close encounters with wild animals. The animals are the main characters in these tales, and you quickly find yourself empathizing with their struggles. The stories are heartbreaking, as the outcomes are often their demise, thanks to the cruelty of humans. Ironically, the author is a tracker people hire to hunt the animals, but he finds himself sympathizing and even helping them. Published in 1898, I think this is one of the first books that really told stories of animals as beings like us, rather than background of nature.

Wilderness by Rockwell Kent — A story of a man who moves to Alaska to build a new life at the turn of the century. He takes his young son with him, and they learn to connect with nature, build for themselves, and appreciate a life of beautiful simplicity despite isolation. It inspired me to plan more solitary trips among nature in the future. For more on the book, read Maria Popova’s lovely post on it.

The Mysterion by Kabir Helminski — A beautiful introduction to the Sufi lens on spirituality, exploring how to find connection with our inner selves and those around us in an increasingly disconnected world. What stands out most about Kabir’s writing is his practical approach to understanding the nature of Self and managing our inner world. His perspective resonates with the philosophical clarity of Alan Watts, making complex spiritual concepts accessible. For those curious about the wisdom behind Rumi’s poetry or seeking to learn more about Sufism, this book serves as an excellent entry point. I wrote about my experience reading the physical edition of this book in my post, Pencil’s Purpose.

Cathedral by Raymond Carver — There are short stories, and then there are Carver short stories. He’s just a level above the rest, and this collection is no exception. Every story is a treat.

Short Shorts: An Anthology of the Shortest Stories by Irving Howe and Ilana Wiener Howe — What sets this anthology apart is its consistently exceptional quality. Unlike many short story collections that mix brilliant pieces with mediocre ones, this collection captivated me from the very first story. The anthology features literary giants like Tolstoy, Chekhov, Guy de Maupassant, and Augusto Monterroso, maintaining a high standard throughout that keeps readers engaged.

Make Something Wonderful by Steve Jobs Archive — A refreshingly direct window into Steve Jobs’s mind through his own words, curated by the Steve Jobs Archive. Rather than another biographical interpretation, this collection presents Jobs’s actual speeches and talks, allowing his authentic voice to shine through. The book pairs beautifully with The Lost Interview, filmed after his departure from Apple, where Jobs shows a particularly reflective and candid side. Both resources provide invaluable insights into his thinking and perspective, unfiltered by intermediaries.

A Short Stay in Hell by Steven L. Peck — A fascinating and provocative short novel that explores the question of what happens after we die, the existence of God and how different religions, the nature of the infinite, and more. It gripped me from start to finish.

Foster by Claire Keegan — I read this through a recommendation from Eliot Peper’s 2024 books list. I finished it in a few hours in a single sitting. It’s a beautiful portrait of a child with many siblings, in a house where she does not get the love she deserves. She is dropped off at her aunt’s house and the story explores her journey of discovering what it means to be loved and appreciated.

Welcome to the 138th edition of Quick Brown Fox, a newsletter by me, Salman Ansari. If you forgot who I am, I don’t blame you, because who can keep track of newsletters anyway? As a refresher: I am that guy who is weirdly obsessed with foxes, juggles software engineering with creativity, wrote and illustrated a book of fables, and has been publishing this newsletter since the first edition dropped back in December of 2019. I write about creativity, philosophy, and self-awareness, among other things. I also really like to draw.

Five years of newsletter-ing. Wow. Good job, me! This is now the longest “project” I’ve ever worked on, exceeding the five years I spent building a startup straight out of university. (Note to self: I should probably tell that story sometime. Would you want to hear it?)

You might notice this edition looks and feels a bit different. That’s because I switched my newsletter host from Substack over to Buttondown. I have been wanting to do this for a while now, and am relieved it’s finally done. I wanted to keep things simple, and focus on publishing to my personal blog and this newsletter, without the distractions that come with Substack. For more of my thoughts on all that, check out my prior edition, Reviving the Open Web.

The transition was seamless, but if you notice anything wonky, forgive me (and please let me know by replying to this email.) My full archive still lives at letter.salman.io, since that is a custom domain I’m hosting, so I was able to port all the archives over cleanly thanks to Buttondown’s import features. The images, links, etc. all worked out of the box.

I feel lighter already.

Today’s edition focuses on animals—goats, sheep, and wolves. I’ve been spending a lot more time with animals lately, and I’ve also been researching the plight of animal wildlife. There is a lot of suffering in this story, but there is also hope. We have the power to alter outcomes.

In the coming months, I plan to write more about animals. I want to commune with them, listen deeply, and channel their messages into my writing. I know this topic is a bit different than the stuff I’ve written on in the past. But then again, I’ve always been writing with animals, whether it be the comic mascots of this newsletter or the characters in my fables. So, I guess this is a natural evolution.

I want to give animals a voice. I hope you’ll find room to hear what they have to say.

Onward!

Little Farm

I visited a place called Little Farm at Tilden Nature Reserve, up in the hills of Berkeley, California. It’s a working farm with all kinds of animals—sheep, goats, geese, chickens, rabbits, turkeys, cows, and more. I noticed I was the only adult there who wasn’t attending as a child’s accompaniment. But then I reminded myself I was chaperoning my inner child, and I continued on my merry way to meet the animals.

Everywhere I looked, children were stuffing the animals’ faces with little pieces of lettuce they had purchased at the entrance. I decided right away that, rather than feeding them, I would spend time with the animals, pet them, and sketch them.

Given the time it takes to sketch, I was only able to be with the goats and sheep before several hours had passed, and I needed to go home. It was a good tradeoff—I got to spend quality time being present with the animals, rather than checking them off as if the farm were a list. I plan on going back soon. Hopefully this post will have a part two.

I hope you enjoy the tales of these fine creatures, and my drawings that accompany them…

Read ‘Little Farm’ on my blog

Save the Wolves

If you’ve got a copy of my book Wandering Spirits, you’ll remember that a wolf is the characters on its cover:

Recently, in the United States, gray wolves were removed from the endangered species list. Almost immediately, a massacre of wolves ensued. They desperately need our help.

When I learned of this, I was heartbroken. I can’t imagine a world without wolves, where stories like mine would be fictional in a double sense—both the story and the animal would become fiction. We cannot let that happen.

You might be thinking, “If they were removed from the endangered species list, doesn’t that mean they’re doing just fine?” That would make sense. But few things about the way humans live makes sense. Sadly, animals removed from the endangered species list are often in even more danger. It goes like this:

1. A species starts to die out, usually due to human influence (e.g. poaching, unrestricted hunting, or second-order effects from climate change.)

2. They get added to the endangered species list, which protects them at the federal level. (This means states, which usually have their own rules, cannot hunt them.)

3. They recover slightly in one area or state, and a petition is made to remove them from the endangered species list. This happens even though they are still endangered in many other areas.

4. Once hunting season is open again, hunters go wild on the wild. It is utterly devastating to the populations.

That’s basically what happened to the gray wolves.

To learn more about their plight, read this recent post from Born Free USA, and please consider donating to the Save the Wolf Foundation. The best way to support them is to Adopt a Wolf, which you can do for as little as $5 a month. As a bonus reward, you’ll get this adorable little wolf plushie:

Adopt a Wolf

P.S. You might have come across Born Free before—they are the foundation established after the infamous domestication and eventual rewilding of Elsa the lioness. There is a wonderful book and film, Born Free (1966), that tells Elsa's story. I watched it recently and loved it.

Here’s a quick sketch I did while watching Born Free, capturing the heart-wrenching moments when Elsa watches her (human) mother leave her side.

Elsa waited for her adopted mother by the gate, all night long. Precious few humans are able to return the tireless devotion animals give them.

I’ve been swamped the past month with moving. I’m finally starting to get my routine back in the new place, and despite the chaos, I’m trying to look at it as a phase of renewal. Just as we move physically, I’m shifting my approach digitally with respect to how I publish online.

In the last edition, Reviving the Open Web, I mentioned I want to focus more on blogging again. Since then, I’ve been publishing more pieces directly to my website salman.io, as well as upgrading its look-n-feel. It feels good to curate and contribute to my site—it’s my digital home, and I’m proud of it. I want to keep devoting more and more energy toward it, rather than to the platforms.

Onward!

A Pencil’s Purpose

I just finished reading a beautiful book called The Mysterion by Kabir Helminski. It’s a wonderful introduction to the Sufi lens on spirituality, and how to find connection with our inner selves and those around us in an increasingly disconnected world. What I liked most about Kabir’s writing is that he offers a practical mindset to the nature of Self, and how to manage our inner world.

Beyond the book, I also wrote about a little pencil I carried with me, and why it became so important to my journey:

The pencil wants to be written with. The book wants to be read. I had done justice to them. I helped them fulfill their purpose. This is no small feat.

To be useful, to be helpful, to be a good partner—these are things we all desperately desire. And the other members of this universe are no different. (Look around you, now, and you’ll see all the things that are waiting for you…)

You can read the full post on my blog.

READ: A Pencil's Purpose

Fables come home to salman.io/fables

I’ve created a new home for fables on my website, so you can now enjoy the fables I publish online with beautiful typography and a clean reading experience.

I’ve put up two fables for you to enjoy so far:

Pay the Piper — Two stories, one about a little piper whose skills were abused until she burned out, and the other about a piper with a better environment, and what that can do for them.

READ: Pay the Piper

The Fool is Free — A fable about the power of being bold enough to play, to fail, to try, and the rewards that come with that path. Here’s what one reader, Omar, had to say about this tale:

I skimmed this once, it was amazing. Then I read it again carefully, it was even better! Chills up my sign. Then I re-read it a third time, even more slowly, and I tripped over this line. I couldn't move past it: “saved of shame but damned with regret.”

Wow. This succinctly captures a concept I've been struggling to articulate for the past ~year. Trying to convince myself why it's OK to try, why failing/embarrassment isn't a signal that I should stop trying/that I'm on the right direction.

READ: The Fool is Free

Rob Burbea

Lately, I’ve been hearing a lot about Rob Burbea’s work on meditative practices. I decided to check out some of his lectures and books, and have found them incredibly insightful and helpful. Life has been a bit heavy for me lately, and his ideas and voice feel like they’ve come to me at the perfect time.

The best resource I’ve found is this essay by Tasshin: Rob Burbea: Ordinary Guy, Werewolf, Eternal Wanderer. He helpfully included a list of suggested talks to begin exploring Burbea’s seemingly endless body of work, along with a map of how he sees Rob’s ideas. If you’re new to his work, I suggest you start there.

I’ve published a new note with learnings from the resources I’ve explored so far, including from podcasts I’ve listened to. Check it out here:

READ: Rob Burbea

I haven’t been publishing much lately. After some reflection, I realized why: I miss blogging. I used to write and publish more freely when I blogged on my site salman.io. Lately, I’ve been focusing too much on Substack, and it has drained some of my creative joy.

I know most of you are not even on Substack, so perhaps writing about it to you is an odd choice. Nonetheless, it’s the platform I started this newsletter on with Quick Brown Fox #1 back in December of 2019, so it warrants some words. But if you don’t really care to read about Substack, just scroll past this first section :)

Substack Struggles & The Death of Open Web

Here’s the gist: I find the platform’s direction confusing, and increasingly detached from its core vision of supporting writers. They recently added support for “Polymarket embeds” (whatever those are), and then doubled-down into video content with their own Instagram Reels-like tab. I also find their “Notes” product (Substack’s version of Twitter) to be noisy and uninspiring—it seems to be primary filled with notes about Notes itself.

I somehow respect platforms like TikTok even more now, because they are unapologetically themselves — entertainment feeds.

Substack seems to be having an identity crisis. It started as one thing, but then insidiously became something else. It now tries to be everything—a writing platform, a twitter-clone, an Instagram/TikTok media app, a podcast app, and more, all in one. I really feel like it has no idea what it is anymore.

I wish I could be more positive. But the more reflection I do on this the more my gut tells me that my best creative, insightful writing will come when I stop spending time in the noise machine that is modern Substack. I feel the urge to run away, to gift myself with silence and solitude for a while, and return to a point where I spend more time thinking about my creativity and less about the platform it lives on.

It’s not just about Substack, though—its evolution mirrors the changes we’re seeing across all social platforms.

A big example that comes to mind is Twitter. I used to write blog posts on my site and see them shared around on it. That simply doesn’t happen anymore. Twitter’s unhinged leadership has done its best to kill sharing of links. That policy is actively against the spirit of the open internet. It completely discards a vital function of discovery through curation.

We’re in an era of increasingly closed platforms and a less open internet.

We all have to decide how we’re going to respond to it.

Going Home to Salman.io

I’m going to do what I can to push back against the walled gardens, and do my part to help revive the open web. It’s time I reverted to prioritizing my own site first, and putting these platforms second.

To kick things off, I published an essay Back to Blogging onto my blog, sharing a bit more on my desire to embrace blogging again:

I miss the open web. I want to be one of the bloggers, again. I like the idea of still working to keep the open web alive.

I still love this little website of mine. I want to tend to it, help it thrive and grow.

Read: Back to Blogging

I’ll be sharing more links to my work here, so you’ll likely see more output overall, but curated into links. Hopefully this gives you more choice to dive in, and for those who want to hear even more from me, I think you’ll enjoy the extra stuff I send your way.

This change of approach might result in decreased engagement, especially as I spend less time within the Substack platform. I’m going to do it anyway. It’s a cost I’m willing to bear.

I want to use my creativity as a vote for what I’d like to see more of.

If you’ve been feeling the same way, I encourage you to revisit (or launch!) your own personal website. As internet citizens, we all have the privilege to build our own homes. It’s time we remembered that and reinvested in them. And if you have a personal blog with an RSS feed, send it my way!

Nuts for Notes

Once I was back to working with my fast website publishing workflow, I published a flurry of notes in a span of few days (after not publishing a single one for more than a year)!

The beauty of a site is you can just publish anything you want, at any time. You don’t have to sit and fret over the permanence of shipping a newsletter.

Momentum is a powerful thing. Before I knew it, I had published a flurry of new writing to my website. Here are a few of them:

• Publishing Fables — Some rough thoughts on my findings from publishing fables in my book and online, and where I might go next with them

• Voice Acting — My experience with narrating my own book of fables

• Sites I Love — A short list of my fav personal websites

• Font Foundries — I’ve been exploring potential new fonts for an updated design, and decided to make a list of my fav places to get fonts

• Site Updates — A note where I’ll note all the site updates I make to salman.io (so meta!)

P.S. Did you know you can subscribe to my blog via its RSS feed? Note that this will only subscribe you to my blog of essays, not all my notes. This is by intention, so that the notes are more free-flowing versus the blog which is a more curated.

Very Demure, Very Mindful Design Details

One the advantages of hosting my own site is that I can customize its design to express my personality. I’m no longer limited by a platform’s creative controls.

I want to prioritize my own voice, shared in my own internet home, and take advantage of my ability to customize the look and feel of my site. I want to express my personality through my site, like some of the wonderful personal sites that inspire me.

My website’s design—not just its content—becomes a medium for creative expression.

I made two fun tweaks recently:

First, I added a little hover interaction to the blog list, so that the post cards have their cover photos embedded as a gradient background. I’m pretty happy with how it turned out!

Then, I made a crucial tweak to my digital garden (a.k.a. my notebook of rough notes): I added a simple automatic list of all my recent notes, sorted by last modified date. This way, you can always see what I’m writing / working on, and I don’t have to keep a manual list updated (it gets updated on its own using my code source control system.) Shoulda done this ages ago!

All of these pages and changes are pretty barebones to start, but that’s the idea! Make a page with a few things on it, update over time, and voila.

The best example of an iterative note is probably my Writing Guide, which I’ve updated hundreds of times over the years with my own tips + my favorite writing advice from others.

Expect to see more updates to my site, and more links to it in coming newsletters! Overall, I hope to treat this newsletter more as a newsletter, linking to my blog and other places, rather than just a replacement of my blog.

Stay tuned for more on salman.io!

Salman in the Wild

I was excited to see my book up on the walls of one of my favorite restaurants, Zareen’s. Check it out if you’re in the Bay!

salmanscribbles

A post shared by @salmanscribbles

Lastly: I was interviewed by CanvasRebel recently where I shared my process and thoughts on creativity: Meet Salman Ansari.

Read: Interview w/ CanvasRebel

The villagers stand by, watching his work, applauding and cheering on their town hero.

“That’s it!” yells the town elder. “Great job!”

When the dragon first arrived at the village, the people were terrified. But after observing his docile nature, they realized he meant them no harm. He merely wanted company. A wise villager found a way to use the dragon’s fire to fuel the town’s needs. Since then, the dragon has served a vital role in the village.

The dragon is happy, for the villagers give him an audience. And the people are happy, for the dragon fuels their fires.

One day, a village scientist comes running out of his lab.

“I’ve tamed fire!” he shouts, giving an impromptu demonstration to the villagers as they gather around him.

“Why do we need fire?” asks a villager. “We have the dragon.”

“Don’t you see? We can make our own fires now! Big ones, small ones, whatever size we like!”

Soon, the people start making their own fires, without the need of the dragon. With their newfound control, they realize the old dragon-lit fires were much too large, and soon become used to the convenience of their own fires.

The dragon remains in the village, but day by day, he has less to do. He slumps around the town asking if anyone needs his help, but they all shake their heads.

A kind woman takes pity on the dragon, and lets him light her stove. But the dragon is out of practice, so his flame explodes in a wild burst. He nearly burns her house down.

The town council holds a meeting. After much deliberation, they decide that the dragon is too dangerous, and it is unnatural for him to stay in the village. The dragon pleads with the council, but their decision is final.

The dragon’s threat never seemed to be a problem before. But now that they don’t need him anymore, he is sent away forevermore. His time in the village soon becomes lore.

The dragon flies far away, and retreats into a cave in the mightiest mountain he can find. He settles into the darkness of a deep cave, wrapping himself into a tight bundle. He soon loses the motivation to eat, to fly, and even to breathe his fire.

After weeks of solitude, flames begin to burn inside his belly. The dragon becomes seriously ill. His body becomes weak, and he begins to wonder if he has reached his final days. The dragon misses his days in the village, but doesn’t want to return to a place where he is not wanted.

Suddenly, the ground beneath the dragon begins to shake. He wonders if it is an earthquake.

A thundering voice echoes in the cave, “Why do you hold?”

The dragon looks around in a panic. “Who’s there?”

“I am the volcano. The mighty mountain in which you live. Now answer me: Why do you hold?”

“Hold what?”

“Your breath. You keep your fire held in your belly. I can feel it. You’re heating up the whole place!”

“Oh, I—I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”

“Of course you can. Let it out, boy!”

The dragon looks away. “There’s no point. The villagers make their own flames now. No one needs my fire anymore. Why bother breathing it?”

“What a silly question. Does the bird cease its song if no one is around to hear it?”

The ponders his question, then shakes his head.

The volcano goes on, “I erupt my lava every so often, when the time is right. Not because someone is watching, but because it is time. If I delay my eruption, it would build up into a disaster. Much like the fires in your belly.”

The dragon rubs his aching tummy.

“Volcanoes erupt, birds sing, dragons breathe fire. We are all gifted in different ways. Our powers were given to us, and it is our duty to share them with the world. We must not hold on to them, or they might tear us apart. Unleash your fire, boy, before it’s too late!”

The dragon’s breath quickens. “You’re right,” says the dragon. “I must let it out!”

“Wait! Not in here,” yells the volcano. “Spread that fire outside. It’s hot enough in here already.”

The dragon nods and flies out of the cave at once. He screams like he hasn’t in years. The flames start with a sputter, but soon become a torrential storm of fire. He laughs with delight, spraying his flame into the sky. With his fire unsealed, his illness is healed, and the dragon’s joy is once more revealed.

The next morning, the dragon sees a figure in the sky approaching him.

Can it be? he wonders. It’s another dragon!

“Hello there!” says the dragon as it approaches.

“Hello! I didn’t know there were other dragons out here. How did you find me?”

“I saw your signal,” replies the visitor.

“Signal?”

“Your fire. It shone like a beacon on a hill. It led me right to you.”

“Oh! I’m so glad you saw it. It’s been so long since my last breath.”

“I’m glad you let it out. Say, that fire of yours is quite strong! Could you teach me how to breathe it like that?”

The dragon smiles, and takes a deep breath.

If you liked this tale, you might enjoy the other fables in the Modern Fables section of this Substack:

And if you’re looking to dive deeper into longer, richer tales, then be sure to check out my new book of fables, Wandering Spirits:

Wandering Spirits: Modern Fables - by Salman Ansari

🐺 My new book of fables is out now!