Day and night standing there like two old cousins at the fence line, oh~ that made me smile~ Such a homely little sky image, somehow the whole world felt neighborly for a second~
Your words lit up my evening in that soft way only you seem to manage. The way you said the whole world felt neighborly for a second... that settled into me like dusk settling over the bayou. Slow, warm, familiar. It’s a beautiful thing when a single image can make the sky feel like it’s leaning close, like it knows your name.
I wrote those cousins at the fence line from a place of memory… the kind of memory that carries the smell of wet earth and the hum of something old waking up under the reeds. Hearing that it made you smile... well, that’s its own kind of spring.
Thank you for seeing the homely little sky in it and for feeling the neighborliness of the world for that heartbeat of a moment.
From this quiet bend of the bayou, I’m waving back across that neighborly sky.
Thank you! I’ve always felt the land has its own pulse, its own quiet teachings, and when I write it, I’m really just trying to listen closely enough to catch a little of its rhythm. If any of that grounding made its way to you, then the bayou did too.
With a quiet breath from the bayou to your meditation mat,
Day and night standing there like two old cousins at the fence line, oh~ that made me smile~ Such a homely little sky image, somehow the whole world felt neighborly for a second~
Dear Fragrance of Tomorrow, Firefly,
Your words lit up my evening in that soft way only you seem to manage. The way you said the whole world felt neighborly for a second... that settled into me like dusk settling over the bayou. Slow, warm, familiar. It’s a beautiful thing when a single image can make the sky feel like it’s leaning close, like it knows your name.
I wrote those cousins at the fence line from a place of memory… the kind of memory that carries the smell of wet earth and the hum of something old waking up under the reeds. Hearing that it made you smile... well, that’s its own kind of spring.
Thank you for seeing the homely little sky in it and for feeling the neighborliness of the world for that heartbeat of a moment.
From this quiet bend of the bayou, I’m waving back across that neighborly sky.
Steve
This is beautiful, Steve… there’s something so grounding and alive in the way you write the land and its rhythms.
Dear Ms. Thorfinson,
Thank you! I’ve always felt the land has its own pulse, its own quiet teachings, and when I write it, I’m really just trying to listen closely enough to catch a little of its rhythm. If any of that grounding made its way to you, then the bayou did too.
With a quiet breath from the bayou to your meditation mat,
Steve