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Melancholy is a strange feeling to the one so used to extremes A feeling that nestles in my spirit when old wounds are poked and prodded giving air to memories buried so deep their roots are hidden until my melancholy calls them out to pasture to be watered by tear filled streams of healing
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The songs of crows and cardinals they tell me that my Dead are here That Death is near, but far enough to grieve what once my Heart held dear
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And so They told me who I was! So They told Me! So They Told Me! Drowning out the whispers of my then untethered Spirit. You see, They told Me who I was, “The Mother with no father the Dream, and the Regret the stain of a past and light of the future The Daughter…
Autumn Irene 🌕 