tonight,

the house breathes with the storm.

and so do i.

I am only a whisper on the breeze
A softly falling snowflake in a sea of white
A dancing leaf from atop a majestic oak tree
A single drop in the stormy sea of Life
Unseen
Unheard
A brief spark in the night
And yet
I am here.
I am here.

Truth can be tucked gently into humor, just as much as it can be with beauty.

one leaf speaking autumn.

a hundred leaves answering summer.

tonight,

there is a lump in my throat
almost as gentle as the fog
over the mesa
on a cool, quiet fall morning.

The hour before becoming.

beauty is … 

walking through snow-covered mountains,
listening to the stories
the footprints leave behind.

Each leaf,

each photograph,

each word…

a small keeping of light.

Together,

they form the chest I open

when I wish to remember

how beauty feels.

This space has become

a home for wonder,

for remembering,

for belonging.

A million times each day,

I move between

what agony it is

to carry this weight,

and

what a privilege it is

to simply be alive today.