Flowing by lakes of milky water, it stands strong and sure. Raspberry drops on its leaves, chocolate crumbs on its trunk.

Fortitude. That’s all I can think of.

You’re branches give rest to the Sun, and your roots give life to the little green hairs of the ground.

I long for what you give. Life; and a pure, praise-filled breath.



Living “Ice, Water, Steam”


Only moments into creating a new beginning, I am already prompted at sharing where I come from, where I’m going, and where I’m at.

Droplets of water are slithering down tall windows, and yet they frost my nose as soon as I walk out the door. My cup of raspberry tea steams off goodness. I can’t fathom how the same aroma could be dangling off petals after morning dew.

Living, purifying water.  How could I compare myself to such a thing?

I could see myself as the glass window being tickled by water, or the melting point of the frost on my nose.

Steam is beyond me. Perhaps who I am is more like the tea bag. Weak, yet strong enough to stop the water from becoming grass.

Contradictory, yet living in harmony.

To tell you the truth, I don’t know much about yesterday, and who knows if I’ll even be around tomorrow.

All I know is that I’m alive enough to love and hurt, to dream and hope of wild things and yet hold these things close because of fear.

We are like the tears running down a baby’s cheeks, the steam of a boiling soup or ice resting on a farmer’s pond.

Beautiful, scary, wild, calm

{In response to The Daily Post’s weekly writing challenge: “Ice, Water, Steam.”}