On still nights I can hear

On still nights I can hear
the wind in solitude breathing,
roaming in habitual journey.

It goes through cycles
with murmurs and tantrums.

I remember that in a dimmed sunlight
the wind envelopes my sides.

My scarf and blue ribbon sway at large,
flowing and spreading out, wings
if only I learned to pull at freedom:

To finally become free motion through
bits of particles bowing decisively

into existence
definitely,
infinite.

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thoughts on winter rain

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through the window, I look at the rain falling on naked trees. In the background, the sky mourns… It reminds me of the inside creases of our paper hearts. We are moving in time, even when the rain has fused our morning and afternoon

silenced our tongues,
focused our lens, zoomed into
water drops resting like sleeping lips
or fingertips over soft skin
or glossy, wide-open eyes.
their soft romance,
born overnight, existing indefinitely
this is a kind of acceptable noisy…
I don’t know how to measure holy.
I don’t know how to articulate holy.
So instead I point and say, “Look, how pretty,
If you were a child you’d be seeing
the drops sparkle…”
and then stepping outside
I think:
“this is a child’s glitter”

1,000 miles: step 30

Though recent temperatures spring forward to summer, let us not forget ’tis the season to be blooming. In other words, it’s spring time! One of my two favorite seasons—autumn being my favorite pick. All seasons bring a little magic. Autumn and spring bring falling petals or leaves.

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Flower petals aren’t petrified of gravity; instead, they take pleasure in the journey. They let gentle wind and rain carry them. And it’s such a beautiful, slow, cotton-scent waltz.

I think of their journey in the same way Andrea Gibson thinks of autumn: “the leaves are falling, and they’re falling like they’re falling in love with the ground.” Leaves turn into petals, into love.

Love. Love must be a shade of red. A pink, a blush, perhaps. A rose petal on someone’s cheeks. A soft petal on the ground. So lonely and brave, until it fades and becomes the nothing of a something. A something like a season. Impermanent. Glorious.

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