We tone ourselves to subtle ways of existence. Vibrations we send out strum against those who hear and set the scales in which we dream our harmonies.
The strumming of a harp echoes off the face of a gray eyed sea, who coos into the tiny ear of a blue eyed infant. This song melts through the child’s heart to be cried back again to the tide.
We are ourselves yet of like substance with those tethers that hold us close. Love nurtured vines grow in moments of pause, scattered rhythmically within the always moving waves, to wrap their arms around us, whispering of promises already kept & reminding of the wholeness in which we dance.