She winds out into the lake so still with the sound splashing round. And at her end, not a cage, but a cocoon, a nest, a safe place, a magnificent space
A place to write, to be, to absorb, to take risks in my words, my thoughts, my emotions–to allow grief to be what it is and allow it to wane in it’s passing. Grief will come to it’s fullness in emptiness and pass. Here is the space for the passing. I will allow it to pass.
I think I have found my place for stillness for the month.0