Some mornings carry a weight that has nothing to do with the weather. Looking out across the farm, even the aeroplane overhead seemed to move more slowly, and I found myself wondering whether the heaviness belonged to the day or to me.
No Lift in the Day Read Post »
A winter walk, a still morning, and the quiet discovery that the wind I thought I was walking through was simply the from my own movement.
The Wind I Was Making Read Post »
After weeks of storms and power cuts, the morning finally exhaled. Standing outside before dawn, I understood why Homer imagined Dawn with rosy fingers and a saffron robe—not to explain the world, but to describe what it feels like to live inside it.
They Called Her Dawn Read Post »
Some mornings you feel it in your body before you can name it: the hard days have passed, for now, and the boundaries you set have actually held. The dogs remember, the guinea fowl stay calm, and something in you finally stops watching the edge and starts living again.
Soft Morning · Invisible Safety Read Post »
Storms test us, reshape us, and strip away what cannot hold. Some storms can be prepared for. Others we must face awake. From bent trees to thorns underfoot, storms reveal what endures and what must be let go.
Sleeping Through Storms, Living Within Them Read Post »
At a hidden crossroads in the forest, I found old wires, unseen paths, and a rare Turaco messenger glowing red in the sun. A reminder that stillness reveals what motion cannot — that the most important paths may be waiting, unseen, until we pause.
Crossroads in Stillness: Hidden Paths and Messengers Read Post »
It rained at last, and the earth breathed again. Lying forehead to forehead with Aurora, I remembered that peace does not mean the weight is gone — it means returning, again and again, to breath, to body, to what still holds.
The Horse, the Rain, and a Breath That Held Me Read Post »
Usually all our water troughs are kept full — shared with frogs, deer, and whatever else wanders through. But in the dry stretches, we fill only what’s necessary. Wealth is not about more. It is about gratitude and preservation — and living within the limits of what we cannot control.
When the Barrels Run Low Read Post »
On fear, humility, and gratitude beneath grey skies. This morning the sky was grey and heavy,but the ground still dry,the valley still holding its breath. I thought of the fires of 2017,how fear lingers in us long after the flames.The animals, though — they went on grazing,singing, crowing, barking —unconcerned with our human sense of
The Rain We Needed Read Post »
