singing home

I come from an earth which shouldered itself up out of old, wild waters.

From the haunted conversations of trees, and the careful awareness that there are things slipping quiet through their shadows and standing in empty rooms, waiting to be seen.

I come from damp winds.




From old floral aprons and homebaked cakes.

From the sea cringing behind me, and the city somewhere over there, out of sight, far away. I come from the edges and the deep.

I come from leaving it all behind. And oh, needing to remember again, every now and then.


7 comments:

  1. The poetic beauty of your words makes my heart flutter. And the bit about "haunted conversations of trees" makes me want to return to such enigmatic places

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  2. The poetic beauty of your words makes my heart flutter. And the bit about "haunted conversations of trees" makes me want to return to such enigmatic places

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  3. Absolutely enchanted words, sarah. A beautiful image. Thank you.

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  4. its always so nice to check in with you and see what has been gently swaying your world.

    I'm so sorry about the pine tree ... lets hope that many more baby pines grow underneath its space in the future ....

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