A Walk in the Woods
As I walk on the muddied earth toward the rushing water, surrounded by the broken trees and limbs, the softest voice whispers to me, “remember, child, there is beauty in the broken too. There is beauty in the stillness. There is beauty in the death of something as it becomes something new.” And in the branches that lay bare and broken, a flutter of life takes wing.
Whispers of Frozen Flowers
I stared at the prairie grass this morning and it waved at my gaze.
