This Being Alive
She Will Not Be Quiet: A (mostly unedited) daily writing practice
Jotting from my journal. Day #96 of (mostly unedited) daily writing/sharing
This Being Alive
It is such a feather-fine thing to be alive inside these bodies where so much can break, fade, flee, fly away— The precious bird with its soft, soft wings nibbling seeds in the sun—singing singing singing her beautiful song. One moment so alive, the next in the cat's mouth, then— a scattering of feathers. Life is like that with these beating hearts, breathing, then not breathing—all of the singing in between. Even when all there is is a scattering of feathers— precious bird, I still hear your song.
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