Growing Feathers
Clouds shroud the island, with the sound of foghorns and cries of geese. Somewhere hidden above sun and stars continue, while below I’m motionless as
November 17, 2024
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Clouds shroud the island, with the sound of foghorns and cries of geese. Somewhere hidden above sun and stars continue, while below I’m motionless as
Sunlight on a wind blessed sea, the earth green and alive in the ritual of everyday beauty. I practice silence with deep rooted trees, letting
Putting faith in what passes I am abandoned, while the earth remains in green face shining. The dark of night and sweep of the tide,