Sometimes life leaves you wordless. You drift in obligations or little multiplied tasks. You grasp for every syllable. You slide through the mud of lost words. Until you sit with yourself and listen. Your heart still beats. You pick up your pen and write your name. One word. The beginning of all that was lost.
Resolve and resilience is at the heart of a living being.
Growing old with burdens, pain and oppression, yet, growing.
There is a map on your body that tells stories of utmost treasure. It is most visible at dawn, in the softest light. You extended your roots. What once was in your infanthood and by vernal adventures reached a threshold. Now you reach up to the sky, out wide to be stark.
Roots want to see the light and you make your story seen to the attentive eye.
Cold water and time dissolves dried blood. Rowan dashes disappear. Translucent, invisible now what was crimson not long ago.
The red hot life is fragile. Spills of energy, outbursts and velocity cannot persist. Yet, the gentle still water can. It takes our sores away, the stains, the splatter of ignorance. When the blood is watered the spell is broken.