under the feet

washed clean 

smooth stones

fill a pocket or moment or hours of awe

s l o w down

be still

know love

xo

 

There is something so hauntingly gorgeous in the witnessing of dying flowers: beauty surrenders.
Dropping petals and pieces, smells are pungent, carry memories of ones gone before. 
With the fading comes a softness: a gentle reminder of what one day shall be:
the giving back, the letting go, the last dance, the final fare thee well. 
xo

February 2024 

 

The four directions placed themselves, and I thought of the father, sun, sons, and ghosts. The woods called my name, and I raised my head and listened. No wind, only soft words coming from my heart. And still, I know I am an orphan to the ferns and spider webs. I am lost and found. Saved. 

And searching. xo