small stone/tiny joule ~ inhale

Outside
there is a stirring.
an unsettling,
an itchiness.
Outside
are the whispers
of those who were here,
those who are gone,
those who haven’t arrived yet.
Outside
they swirl,
they dance,
they sing,
of the mysteries,
of the beauties,
of all there is.
I observe.
I take note.
I inhale.
jk

(Writing Our Way Home)

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