Categories
Life

Truth

I am drinking night-time tea, writing, as if to write to a lover of feelings yet to be spoken.

I’ve been in the garden today. I sometimes wish my Nan was still alive so I could ask her: ‘Is this what it felt like for you?’ She was a big gardener. I thought it must have been because she liked gardens.

I want to ask her if she, too, felt the whisper of the earth and was afraid to tell us. I want to ask her if delicate roots intrigued her, if rose buds felt like dear, sweet children.

Such beautiful voices have been suppressed. Beautiful voices of truth and earthly wisdom, voices of absolute love and dear, dear compassion.

You will not silence me, fearful past.

I will speak of this beauty.

I will shout it, and the world will know its truth.

Photo by u0415u043bu0435u043du0430 u041au0443u0437u0438u0447u043au0438u043du0430 on Pexels.com

By brookecutler2

Liver of life, lover of everything. 💕

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