Where the Wind Listens

The Shape of Becoming

  • After the Storm

    After the Storm

    Some storms leave behind their fingerprints…

  • Maybe I Am Here……

    Maybe I Am Here……

    A quiet confession from the edge of a mountain valley … maybe I’m here to let the wild colors bloom, to love out loud, to finally ruin my good reputation … with joy.

  • Moonlit Tangents

    Moonlit Tangents

    I can’t ever do the writing I had planned to do, because the tangents keep leading me deep into a moonlit forest instead. Maybe that’s the writing I was always meant to do, the kind that lets my spirit guide.

  • I Planted Wildflowers

    I Planted Wildflowers

    I planted wildflowers today, not with joy, but with sorrow heavy in my heart. I let the tears fall—wanted them free, just as I had always dreamt of being. The rain came, the crow watched, and still, I planted. Someday, my heart too will bloom.

  • Could I Have Ever Come to This Me?

    Could I Have Ever Come to This Me?

    Could I have ever come to this me without all I’ve been through? The ache, the surrender, the nights I thought might break me… they didn’t. They carved something open instead. Soft. A gentle blooming I didn’t even notice at first. Like how the sky shifts just before dawn, quietly, steadily, until suddenly everything is…

  • I am here

    I am here

    I am only a whisper on the breeze A softly falling snowflake in a sea of white A dancing leaf from atop a majestic oak tree A single drop in the stormy sea of Life Unseen Unheard A brief spark in the night And yet I am here. I am here.