…what scares you most? I know them well, the voices in the mind which begin to whisper, rant, and rave about your inability and the impossibility and all the vain effort you throw at the page white and raw gleaming at you like an evil eye, daring you, try it, laughing at you, a blankContinue reading “dear writer…”
lies are where the truth starts to win, the whole of it pushed down only to rise because goodness stays pure despite what those who can’t handle freedom may say or wish away.
the thing about winter is not the cold but the bare brave beauty that comes from the letting go of brown dead detritus –a big word for the lost– determined to resurrect life from the dark. Shine, then, crooked branches, reaching sunward with hope always of spring, and unafraid of the changing seasons.