I tend to walk through the battlefields, to get some exercise, clear my head, or to gain perspective on things. One could say that I am meandering through the battlefields of life some days. Walking in the footsteps of time helps, knowing that these hallowed grounds look nothing like the beauty shown today. Making me realize that you can make things right, eventually, with much help and understanding. Sometimes you just have to look a little closer at things. I have to wonder how many trees were used to make these fences, and why they were put together in just this way?
Scattered throughout the State are these telltale fences, depicting another time in history. I wander down the path, in the search of my favorite trees, while the thoughts of the sacrifices made by these Civil War soldiers fell on to their shoulders, every single day, no matter which side you were on. My perceived hardships seem so shallow in comparison.
My Tree of Life
Belatedly showing off of the cannon
My path is not always so clearly defined as this, but, I walk it every day and try to make sense of it all. It's not that life is so tough. It is the unseen twists and turns that come with it that make it unpredictable to plan. And yet, I wouldn't trade it for anything. It is the path forged by me. For better. For worse. Oh, to my delight, I am surrounded by the luxury of all these trees. Breathe deeply.
Or maybe this is my season
Leaving the irrational longing behind
Flirting with living instead
Reflection of my thoughts, and other mindless ruminations. And just like that, these words are done. I want to thank you for strolling along with me through the musings of my mind. Some days, I just have to let them go, giving them freedom, spread across the pages, to say what they say and do what they wish. No judgment.
As always, there must be a flower. #alwaysaflower Let it be the sweetness of the honeysuckle that crossed my path.
Thank you for visiting my post 💖 Because of you, I come back to post again and again.
they set my aunts house on fire
i cried the way women on tv do
folding at the middle
like a five pound note.
i called the boy who use to love me
tried to ‘okay’ my voice
i said hello
he said warsan, what’s wrong, what’s happened?
i’ve been praying,
and these are what my prayers look like;
i come from two countries
one is thirsty
the other is on fire
both need water.
later that night
i held an atlas in my lap
ran my fingers across the whole world
"where does it hurt?"
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