refreshing.

It's not until the snow covers every inch of the ground, when the white frosted rooftops melt into the sky, that I really feel my own smallness. The darkness does it too, filling my head and my heart with hopefulness just as pure. And when the black night and the white season come together our night is silent. Just as it is supposed to be. We change and grow and learn and prosper, always returning to the silent nights of winter. Within my smallness, a year dies and a tomorrow is born. Within my smallness, I gravitate back towards the loving embrace of life and faith and sorrow and charity. It is here where I find solitude when the winds blow. Never bending or breaking when the seasons change, for another winter lies ahead.

the dancer.

Her pose is far more complex than the eye can see, lovely with her illuminated edges. She poses to find meaning in the days she can't remember. Silently, she waits, collecting already collected things. Her pose was carefully crafted. Though she is familiar with the maker she is not always at ease with the making. Creaky bones and lovely steps bring light to the fall mourning, her past collides with her present. She finds herself within the pose - her shadow cast - as the stale breathing of yesterday fails to find it's rhythm. She basks there, harmonious in her own light.. beautifully unaware that she is a monumental piece amongst the winds of our creation.

creeker.

Who can tell me more? I keep running into a thousand thoughts without end and ends without thought. I hurt you when you're close and when you're far, tell me why there is distance? Beautiful things are before us - i forgot to live for today. The airy insides of my mind are scorned and appreciated and I'm sure we will all climb out of it okay. Answers continue to be lost somewhere but ill leave someone else to do the searching. Some want knowledge and others are fine to see and believe. Watch them, as they go towards better things. We'll stay still and be here for now. I think that's okay, as long as we make time for the chirping of the birds everyday. If you leave too, I will stay. These birds need me around for a little while longer. So go if you must, the birds and I will stay. Do you remember the trickle of the stream I used to play in? It was my stream and it gave me whirlwind thoughts. It gave me whirlwind things. Memories in the cabin by the stream. And by the lake and the trees and the birds. The birds again, with voices harsher this time but with words just as meaningful. Who can tell me more? Maybe we are fine and maybe we are not. Maybe it's bad that I am brave enough to care. Maybe it is good. Either way, the thoughts are my own and so is the end.

calm waters.

I am astounded by the pretty lights this week. Darkness has crept in but i know the flowers will bloom, thanks to the lights. It's all here. We're all here. And how lucky we are to have the lights and the flowers and you. On the opposite side of it all, I stand confused. You're lost too, amongst all the beautiful and terrifying sights. Air in our lungs kind of stuff. Like beetles and fresh sheets and heartbreak. We don't know anything at all and we love pretending like we do. If we link arms now it should all be okay. Gravity pulls us apart but I'm sure there was something to keep it all together at one point, too. Everything is going faster now, grown up boy. Grown up girl. And like the stories of tomorrow, I send on precious thoughts and keep you as my own in pockets of the past. Me and I and her and him hear beyond the black and white. I'm in love with many things and some of them are you. Will you gently kiss my forehead? Will you agree the sky is blue? Onward, as we reach for things greater than ourselves. The silence and the sound and the ringing. And how lucky we are to have the lights and the flowers and you.