The river does not ask how you fell in only takes you, cold and certain, pulling at your lungs like a quiet demand. Branches lean in, witnesses with trembling hands, while the current wraps your ribs in a tightening hush a language of weight, of breath stolen before it forms. You learn the sound of silence pressed beneath the surface, how panic blooms like thunder with nowhere to go. You kick, you claw, but the water is patient, and it knows how to hold. There, in the dim green blur, you meet the heaviness not just of water, but of everything you tried not to carry. And still something in you refuses to dissolve. A fracture of light, a memory of air, a stubborn, flickering yes you rise. You break through not into peace, but into ache lungs burning, body shaking, the world louder than you remember. Because survival is not gentle. It is the gasp, the trembling, the fight to stay when leaving would be easier. And yet you stay. You learn the rhythm again: in, out not just breath, but choice. You become river-shaped strong where it matters, soft where it heals, carving kindness from stone. And though the current still moves, though the depths still call, you stand in the shallows with something unbroken a quiet knowing that even forced under, even undone, even lost in the weight we rise above it all.
give me the large dose small doses of kindness are beautiful, yet sometimes are not enough;
surviving off of crumbs a soul can still starve—
i prefer large doses of kindness that last and linger on more than a single day,
i want do be drowned in flowers, trinkets, affection, compliments, and love;
i want to know i matter to someone else other than me—
i want to linger on the mind as a dream or a haunting crow, whose inky black feathers and eerie song bring no peace in accordance to how a soul treated me. -linda m. crate
falling into dreams the song the crickets sing beneath the silver moon may enchant you to dance in dew covered grass,
where the distant cries of coyotes and owls hooting will chime in;
as you're dancing insomnia will leave your bones—
you'll enter the house tired, and fall into dreams you cannot remember when you wake. -linda m. crate
from a previous life old books and dust make me sad, i try to give them a new life;
sometimes it is hard for me to be captivated by old stories—
other times i open the page of forgotten stories, and remember something from a previous life;
it opens a portal to my soul which i hope leads home
to my magic and to the mythology of my bones. -linda m. crate
some battles aren't worth fighting dreaming violence sometimes comes natural as breathing,
no one knows the violence required to become gentle;
but i know—
i wouldn't wish it on anyone, but i know the deep magic and all the scars it can leave behind;
yet i also know magic which heals and is kind and full of light and love and joy—
when i feel my fingers curl into a fist i just take my fingers apart and remind myself of the miracle of life,
some battles just aren't worth fighting;
sometimes the best thing to do with the violent dream is walk away. -linda m. crate
from a previous life old books and dust make me sad, i try to give them a new life;
sometimes it is hard for me to be captivated by old stories—
other times i open the page of forgotten stories, and remember something from a previous life;
it opens a portal to my soul which i hope leads home
to my magic and to the mythology of my bones. -linda m. crate
parasites and monsters the treasure i buried was my magic, figured only the worthy ones should be able to find me;
a best friend of twenty years forgot me
so i see no need in offering all the prettiest songs of my magic to any stranger—
if you want to know me then you can deal with these walls,
until i feel safe enough to show you my shiny things;
i used to be openly vulnerable but i learned i needed thorns and walls to protect me from the parasites and monsters. -linda m. crate
what would their water be? a world without water isn't one where i imagine much could thrive,
perhaps machines would roam the earth;
but what would their blood be made of and what stories could they forge or tell?
what kind of world would they live in?
could they see any beauty in color or value anything that once lived?
what would their water be?
i wonder what they would do or what they would dream of, what would they be?
i wonder what language they might speak and what variations to those languages there might be, and where did all the water go? -linda m. crate
what would their water be? a world without water isn't one where i imagine much could thrive,
perhaps machines would roam the earth;
but what would their blood be made of and what stories could they forge or tell?
what kind of world would they live in?
could they see any beauty in color or value anything that once lived?
what would their water be?
i wonder what they would do or what they would dream of, what would they be?
i wonder what language they might speak and what variations to those languages there might be, and where did all the water go? -linda m. crate
meander into an adventure;
perhaps i'll see a butterfly or a deer will lock eyes for a second with me before his or her white tail disappears into the trees—
maybe i will see giant trees, or go play in the creek;
you never know where a road to nowhere may lead you— and as long as the day is full of light and the skies are blue, i say adventure away;
no one wants to end up in a horror story. -linda m. crate
whispers in the dark the shadow people roam around, some of them are friendly and kind i am sure;
but i am always weary of anything that whispers in the dark—
i remind myself i was born at night, the moon and stars knew my face before the sun ever did;
so i try to tell myself perhaps in the darkness there can exist more than monsters and parasites. -linda m. crate
this world too full of nightmares moonlight blessings shimmering in silver, pink, red, orange, purple, blue, yellow, green, indigo, and any other color she so chooses;
the moon is a rainbow hearted woman like me—
she taught me that i am beautiful in all of my phases, and always full of light even when i don't feel whole;
she always watches over me when i am sad or happy and she never judges my moodiness—
she always kisses me with compassion,
a cool hand to soothe all the things which burn me up in this world too full of nightmares. -linda m. crate
song of magic lifted by faery wings the butterfly seemed to remember how to dance among the flowers,
and i watched those wings sweep pollen off the lilies as it flew past;
making the clovers dance with more food for the honey bees—
i watched the orange and black wings of the monarch,
and i think he or she watched me back for a moment probably wondering what the giant creature was doing;
but i couldn't help but be caught up in the song of magic. -linda m. crate
something more practical dripping ink would make me so impatient,
people have talked about gifting me quills;
but i think i can write perfectly pretty letters in cursive without them—
i can see them just sitting behind the plastic, gathering dust;
the ink never used—
so get me something more practical or pretty because a girl could never have too many jewels or crystals. -linda m. crate
shapeshifting the animal within sometimes shifts, at times i can be a happy dog;
other times i am an angry wolverine ready to slash you with my claws—
sometimes i am the happy crow hopping around in autumn or shrieking with joy to see my friends, who must collect all of the shiny things;
other times i am a melancholy little cat sitting by the window feeling forgotten—
sometimes i am the turtle slowly crossing the road,
other times i am the impatient hare who can wait no longer as i speed walk past you;
but mostly i am just me regardless of the animals within. -linda m. crate
an invitation the blank page is an invitation,
always i want to see what she'll bring me;
sometimes it is memories and other times dreams and others there are worlds i scarce remember from another life—
but every blank page excites me because the chance of something new, an adventure i've never known waits and beckons for me;
and so i must go—
to lose everything weighing me down, and to gain everything i was meant to know. -linda m. crate
once i got it daisy chains were never something i learned how to make,
i've always wanted a flower crown of real daisies;
but no one ever thought to teach me these things and my mother's cure for everything was watching a tutorial online—
i have always learned better from someone showing me,
i could mimic the movement of their fingers and learn how to do it my own way;
but it is easier if the person is actually there—
because i am curious, and i need to ask questions; i need to see it more than once but once i got it i won't forget. -linda m. crate
meander into an adventure roads to nowhere where i can go slowly,
the skeleton of who i was hypnotic melody whispers in my ear, tries to make me worship an entity whose purpose i don't trust or know;
i ignore the song no matter how pretty it may be
don't need a religion willing to sacrifice me—
i had one of those growing up, and i have left it behind;
those bones aren't something i would wish upon anyone—
the skeleton of who i was warns me that this music is just a spell which could undo me. -linda m. crate
the bumble bee when i heard the buzzing, i was afraid that there was a wasp in my house;
to my surprise it was just a big bumble bee—
hello, bumble!
i asked the universe to let her trust me, and i held out a hand; she seemed to recognize i was trying to help her and she crawled onto one of my fingers—
as i headed out of the steps of my apartment and outside she had managed to walk from one shoulder to my other shoulder,
and she seemed to buzz in gratitude;
but it was so loud in my ear that i waved her away— but the following day i saw her checking in on me, as if to see if i were okay. –linda m. crate
i rather dance with the moon i couldn’t begin to tell you every place where it hurts,
for there are so many scars that are only half-healed or open themselves when i scratch deep enough into the wound to feel it again;
so let us not imagine those places—
instead let me dwell in the places of healing: books, conversations with friends and family which are cozy and comfortable, music, poetry, fantasy books, the forest, underneath the moon in a sky full of stars, in the sunlit kisses of the creek, in the wings of fantasy and imagination where my mind is prone to go;
for these places bring me joy—
& while i will not deny the pain i’ve known, i’d rather dance with the moon than relive all of that misery again. –linda m. crate
shift in perspective climbing faery hills the world seems a bit more magical than mundane,
and i am able to see rainbows of flowers and colors i may not otherwise observe;
and i can suck in a deep breath of fragrant life beauty and fall in love with the blue skies and the sunlight dancing through the trees once more—
sometimes a mere shift in perspective is needed for happiness to come flying in. –linda m. crate
a different world butterflies do not swim, neither do fish fly; but i imagine a world in which the inverse is true—
a place where you can swim with butterflies, and where sometimes fish sometimes forget where they’re flying to and smack you in the face;
but i can imagine the chaos it would cause for the drivers who are simply minding their business
only for a fish to fly into their windshields—
but i still think it would be fun to swim with butterflies, imagine how quickly they’d be able to swim to keep themselves from the hungry maws of predators;
imagine how their beauty would dance across the sea. –linda m. crate
even the sun feels cold serenity is a state of mind that i’d like to reach again, sick of being caught in the chaos of all this fear, all this anger, all this pain;
sometimes the daffodils help me see the beauty in the midst of all these nightmares
but i fear i need more light— i know there’s light within me, but it feels too weak and dim to illuminate my soul the way it needs to shine;
need some other source to touch me with their fire— because even the sun feels cold. –linda m. crate
As a side Note we wish a happy Book birthday to Linda for Her Faerie Witch Queen that released today.
She is doing well with the Challenge. How are you doing ?
So, This is where we talk about older books. Has your book been out a year or more? Tell us about it! Links and blurb, and maybe your next read will be in the comments below! We are always looking for our next read, and everyone asks about your newest volume. Here we show love to those books that are already out. Don’t have but one? Share it! Have not published yet? Share your favorite author. Let’s make the comments pop with suggested reading!
So, This is where we talk about older books. Has your book been out a year or more? Tell us about it! Links and blurb, and maybe your next read will be in the comments below! We are always looking for our next read, and everyone asks about your newest volume. Here we show love to those books that are already out. Don’t have but one? Share it! Have not published yet? Share your favorite author. Let’s make the comments pop with suggested reading!
