Against the weight of a storm-dark sky, tender stems lean forward—some bending, some breaking, some still reaching.
They hold their fire at the tips, waiting to bloom, waiting to burn, waiting to belong to light.
Perhaps this is all of us:
stretching through shadows,
searching for the thin, golden line that divides earth from eternity.
Keeping occupied pre-Samhuinn and Halloween night yet again, because I can’t keep the pen down this time around in the immediate run-up for some reason!
