“That which is lastingly dark is not, as it turns out, eternal.” Thank you for this. This will go in my journal as words of hope. Never doubt words have power, as these worlds traveled to me and gave me renewed strength for tomorrow.
This, a balm for my soul this morning, a slowing of breath, the calming I feel when I sink my hands into loamy soil and nestle a bulbous tulip.
"...stories, in the end, cannot be bargained for. Nothing’s enough and everything must be." There's a quiet ache, a necessary resignation there for me.
An exhale, my friend. An exhale. I've been out raking, uncovering the wildflowers from the winter's pile of leaves. It turns out they were waiting for me. As life does and will.
Last week I had cataract surgery on my left eye and yesterday, my right. This is the first piece I’ve been able to see well enough to read. It feels like such a gift: your words, new eyes, the promise of spring.
Will you tag me so that see? Only about a week ago did I realize that people had been leaving me messages in Notes. I feel terrible not responding and worried that I will not see such kind things in the future.
“That which is lastingly dark is not, as it turns out, eternal." Yes, yes. I have pinned my hopes on the return of spring. It has been a cruel winter so far. Thanks for the lift.
I love these. And the collage. Waiting for the turtle. Part of my life, as the season now approaches for them to emerge, crossing roads finding just the right spot to plant their eggs.
The line C. quoted is the one that leaped out for me too: "That which is lastingly dark is not, as it turns out, eternal." Thank you for that amidst this beautiful immersion in the cusp of spring. Of turtles not smashed, deer that part to let us pass, and the grace of life cycling through and beyond. The right words in the right order at the right time. Blessings and a hug to you, Beth!
“That which is lastingly dark is not, as it turns out, eternal.” Thank you for this. This will go in my journal as words of hope. Never doubt words have power, as these worlds traveled to me and gave me renewed strength for tomorrow.
We are all leaning on each other, C. With everything we have.
Sorry I just saw these replies. Each means a lot.
No worries at all
This, a balm for my soul this morning, a slowing of breath, the calming I feel when I sink my hands into loamy soil and nestle a bulbous tulip.
"...stories, in the end, cannot be bargained for. Nothing’s enough and everything must be." There's a quiet ache, a necessary resignation there for me.
An exhale, my friend. An exhale. I've been out raking, uncovering the wildflowers from the winter's pile of leaves. It turns out they were waiting for me. As life does and will.
Last week I had cataract surgery on my left eye and yesterday, my right. This is the first piece I’ve been able to see well enough to read. It feels like such a gift: your words, new eyes, the promise of spring.
Oh, Sue Ann, I had no idea you were going through that. Grateful that you are on the other side, and that you are seeing.
Hauntingly beautiful words again to start my day...
'I am working on becoming someone who is in need of less forgiveness '
Last night I dreamt of printing feathers of white against a dark blue sky
💙
I had been to see Swan Lake in the evening 😍
I am going to make you white feathers on blue today, and post them when they are done. Swan Lake sounds incredible.
I have been playing with feathers and ink this morning, and a rolling pin 😮. I'll put the results on 'notes' as I can't put them here
Will you tag me so that see? Only about a week ago did I realize that people had been leaving me messages in Notes. I feel terrible not responding and worried that I will not see such kind things in the future.
Copying the entire piece into my journal as I bathe in the tides of light and darkness.
The tides of light and darkness—so well put, Martha.
Hauntingly beautiful,Beth. Thank you.
Thank you so much, Deborah.
“That which is lastingly dark is not, as it turns out, eternal." Yes, yes. I have pinned my hopes on the return of spring. It has been a cruel winter so far. Thanks for the lift.
Such a cruel winter. Please, spring, come.
Beth’s visions, seasons
lantern hope home through bone, stone.
Snow, tulips, perhaps.
...
Graves’ gravity, yes.
Nothing, everything, enough.
Green’s antidote, yes!
"Nothing's enough and everything must be." Life, exactly.
"I am working on becoming someone who is in need
of less forgiveness" Beautiful x
thank you, Diane —
I love these. And the collage. Waiting for the turtle. Part of my life, as the season now approaches for them to emerge, crossing roads finding just the right spot to plant their eggs.
I would love to be near more turtles, to have them be that constant presence in my life. I love that they are in yours.
"There will be another spring." I love the way you got to this point, it might snow again, but we have tulips and more light. Even my cats know it.
Thank you for this, I needed to feel hope in this world. and you handed it to me. Thank you, Beth.
We are fighting for our hope. We have to keep fighting for our hope. Look for the cracks. Between them there is light. Has to be.
Oh this is so beautiful, it sank deep into me 💛
thank you so much, LN. thank you.
The line C. quoted is the one that leaped out for me too: "That which is lastingly dark is not, as it turns out, eternal." Thank you for that amidst this beautiful immersion in the cusp of spring. Of turtles not smashed, deer that part to let us pass, and the grace of life cycling through and beyond. The right words in the right order at the right time. Blessings and a hug to you, Beth!