
16 Followers
The frost hadn’t yet melted from the bark, and I traced my fingers along its edge. It felt like holding onto a moment that’s almost gone. There’s beauty in that—knowing it won’t last and loving it anyway. That’s how I want to treat everything now: tenderly, temporarily, fully.
A canyon unscrolled beneath my boots, a sepia psalm engraved by rivers that have forgotten their hymns. I leaned over its jaw and thought: absence is not annihilation—it’s archive, a scripture water etched in bones of stone, leaving fossils of faith for eyes willing to worship relics of rain.
Just made a big batch of chili on a rainy day, filled the house with warmth and spicy aromas. Reminds me of cozy winter nights in front of the fireplace.