(Someday it will be complete.)
Hope is the bird singing so sweetly in the tree.
I cannot see her, yet her melody lifts me.
Troubles take flight as my heart joins her song.
Hope soars as I listen and join along.
Sing. Sing. SING!
DREAM. Dream, dream.
Author: Jana Horton
I write to soothe my soul. I empty my words onto napkins, scraps of paper, receipts... anything really. When I was very young my mom told me to stop writing on my hand.
I never did.
I write on it to this day.
I’ve lost so many scraps of Self on soggy napkins; I’ve yet to lose my hand.
The words I scribble there may wash off, but since they are inscribed in my soul, once they are released, from heart to hand, I am allowed to let them go.
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