they took to the trees.
the morning came, once again. as sleepy eyes peered out of cobwebbed windows. the way the sun hit the trees told them that it was mid-morning. swimming in the welcomed tension of wanting to make coffee and not wanting to leave the comfort of covers and bedding. outside, the hovering bugs and blue iridescent birds offer slowness. we take heed. we share our dreams. they find solace in words, in warmth, in arms. in telling things with lowered voice. there are things best said with finger trace on skin. with softly grazing lips, not seeking answers of any kind, but an offering. their movements become prayer. their exhales become quiet petitions. eyes looking into eyes, a portal. an opening. an invitation. i enter. the sun outside playing tricks on skin, as it flirts between tree leaves. and now you are glowing in a pattern.
who said healing happens on your own? for i have rested upon hands, outstretched, catching me. sharing steps. sharing breaths. outside, the trees teach me something tangible. they teach me how magnificent love is. a hummingbird flies up to my face and time stands still as i am embraced by the pulsing vibration of their flight. each leaf slowly falls, collecting in piles on the ground. an offering. to be turned into soil. their movements become a prayer. of regeneration. i am coming back. of nourishment. let me feed you. of reciprocity. and here i am.
the first steps out of a daze feel like a fumble. but they are mine. no one can say my words for me. they are mine. i have sought refuge under hands. i have graced the bark of trees. finding softness in the rough. i have gazed into mirrors and seen the aged face staring back at me. i have seen the lines on my palm up close to trace the storyline if anything had been missed. the softness of the curves are shared. the warmth of the hearth is shared. my knees ache more than they used to.
i receive flowers once again. this space is filled with bouquets. the details placed with tender hands. with focused eye, with changing minds. photographs capture the still-life of feelings. of moments that are fleeting. i don’t want them to end, but i welcome cycles now more than ever. i have learned to let things go. i have learned the art of holding. i have dreams of waves pushing me under. and i have survived. i move my body once again.
i let the fire burn behind my eyes once again. remembering who i am.
and i took to the trees. often i have hidden my voice behind written words. well, i am speaking now. and the trees sing back to me. winter brings death with their crisp grip, and it is also when we are closest to life and all of its whims. and when the morning comes as it always does, i adjust my weary eyes. and i feel the shadows warm with light.
-k.s.a.
dearest reader,
would you like a tangible offering?
i am now offering prints of my film photographs of any desired size, or in postcard format with a short poem/writing on the back. email me to inquire.
xx,
katie shakira