Dense as a crowded, dark forest with small creatures burrowed in snow. I think entropy deserves some credit. It seems like in winter when the weather turns colder, everything dies. Is that hopeless?
Maybe things begin anew whenever the season changes and deteriorates. Books are full of impermanent stars. How else would they continue to glimmer about? Life continues on. The New Year is the advent for metaphysical transformation. I wish all this would make sense but such is uncertainty.
one more thing. "above and beneath and amid all of this; the tucked pine bark and thunder god vines, supermarket shelves, first loves and last cries: you will move through. you will love. your feet will become sore. it will become dusk. you will grow old." thank you
a gentle, sweet, strange, soft new year to you, my friend. <3 a special one. one unexpected. one up from under. one with bows and milk-thistle and bougainvillea (and perhaps the occasional weed, but only because you'll grow quite strong tugging them out). and sky. lot's of sky. miles of it.
I am so glad I found you.
i am so very glad that you are glad. <3
brilliant... !
believe i have said this to you before
for other words you wrote
a brilliant way you have
a brilliant voice you are. thank you.
Wow, so much in this, I will need to read it again.
This rich tapestry that is life, to have the space to embrace all sides, all phases, the light, the dark.
What an electric ride it is. Thanks for writing and sharing this powerful piece.
such an electric ride.
and to think we are both passenger and machine.
thank you.
Every word, thank you. 🤎
and for your four, also. thank you, little voice <3
Dense as a crowded, dark forest with small creatures burrowed in snow. I think entropy deserves some credit. It seems like in winter when the weather turns colder, everything dies. Is that hopeless?
Maybe things begin anew whenever the season changes and deteriorates. Books are full of impermanent stars. How else would they continue to glimmer about? Life continues on. The New Year is the advent for metaphysical transformation. I wish all this would make sense but such is uncertainty.
it is not your task to make sense. it is your task to adventure. it requires necessary, delicious disorder.
entropy.
be well, little voice. and a gentle new year to you. you are special <3
one more thing. "above and beneath and amid all of this; the tucked pine bark and thunder god vines, supermarket shelves, first loves and last cries: you will move through. you will love. your feet will become sore. it will become dusk. you will grow old." thank you
is there another option?
i think not.
thank you, little voice, for your ear. x
in full agreement and savoring
Happy New Year to you, my hope-faithful friend.
a gentle, sweet, strange, soft new year to you, my friend. <3 a special one. one unexpected. one up from under. one with bows and milk-thistle and bougainvillea (and perhaps the occasional weed, but only because you'll grow quite strong tugging them out). and sky. lot's of sky. miles of it.
d a m n stunning
i adore your syntactical enthusiasm, little voice. thank you.