where the writers are
Nature
Tree of Light.JPG

Through the hanging fog in the morning, I count on the light to crack through; and when it does, I feel renewed. I think to myself how dependent my moods are on the light.

Driving down the freeway I beam at the rich burgundy leaves on the trees, glistening back into my senses, carving a place inside of me, to stay. Even without camera, I am constantly taking photos with my mind, with the connective cord inside my soul.

Driving down the streets, I see the Crepe Myrtle is in bloom, rich fuchsia petals jutting out—many trees lined down the street divider, a welcome sight—nature commingling with the fruits of industry.

I miss my old home, where nature was right there outside my door. Surrounded by tall Pines, Mountains, even a lane of Bamboo; Deer, plenty of cackling Squirrels, and Coyote.

But Nature still finds me and I always find her—always in my soul.

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Always the soul will find the

Always the soul will find the source Rebb and you have it ingrained like the veins in your arm - branches of snesitivity that carry the sap of life. Stay as you are. mx

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“Always the soul will find

“Always the soul will find the source.” That’s beautiful on so many levels, m. Thank you for your words, for your sensitivity and understanding.

: )

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Hello Mary...Hello Reb.. :)

Hello Mary...Hello Reb.. :)

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Hi Sumi, Nice to see you.

Hi Sumi, Nice to see you. Welcome back!

: )

 

Sorry about the triple replies...having technical problems.