All of these words reveal what is wordless.
On this Winter Solstice Eve, Which me should I go dark to see? My past me’s pain and hopes and dreams? Tomorrow’s me who’s light yet beams? Warmed by my cedar smudge stick’s blaze I’ll set my sights on me and gaze. Past me now thank those chapters dark For growth through sorrow, truths cold… Continue reading Winter Solstice
If I could travel back in time to the winter playground of my youth, alone with my crystalized tears and my snowflake thoughts and my too-tight coat that failed to keep me zipped up against your icicle jabs, I would not change that moment. I took your icicles and hung them from my tree. Turned… Continue reading Winter 1985
Libby Lane Creative 