hands reaching in to grasp some of the fire
spun from stars and suns
- a tribal dance
-drumbeat hearts
-woven songs of creation
-light in minds
-fire in souls
-eyes witness love
- the changing seasons
-hard fought understanding
-wisdom of the ancestors
-a living out traditions.

Beneath the skin of the world,
there are names no lips have touched in centuries.
They linger in the mouths of ghosts,
curl in the spaces between prayers.
What do we call the ones
who have outlived even memory?
Perhaps nothing.
Perhaps that is the final death.

In the stillness of a misty morning,
The sea whispers its secrets,
The horizon softened by gray,
Like the world is holding its breath.

We walk, side by side,
Not in a hurry,
Just moving with the rhythm of the waves,
Our footsteps sinking into the cool sand,
Echoes of longing and love filling the space between us.

I don’t speak...
There’s no need for words.
The air is thick with anticipation,
The mist wraps us in its quiet embrace,
And all around us, time slows,
As if the world knows this moment is precious.

We wait.
Not for something to come,
But for everything to settle into place...
The softness of your hand near mine,
The shared silence that speaks louder than words,
The tender longing that feels like it’s been here forever,
Waiting to be understood.

And the love,
A pulse beneath the sound of the sea,
Constant, steady,
Unspoken, but known.

In this mist,
In this quiet space between us,
There is everything we need.
No need for more,
Just the sea, the fog,
And the soft, tender feeling
Of being here, together.

Carry only a backpack into the future’s embrace,
Leave behind the luggage of yesterday’s trace.
It costs dearly to drag what’s past,
Travel light, for freedom holds fast.