A Sacred Language

The warming months bring with them an invitation of sorts back into our bodies. A renegotiation of our boundaries, layers, routines, and how we inhabit our nests.
A spring cleaning of sorts. A shedding, uncovering, rediscovering.
This season has unearthed a sense of quiet nostlagia, old materials, precious
pieces gathered, held onto, brought together anew and reimagined into new
realities.
Missing the mornings of rising with the birds, I open my eyes into the clarity of the day. Opportunities abound, fueled by the light and in response to the question, to what shall I tend, I turn to poems:
“Maybe our job is that of the birds, simply to collect the soft things of the world and sing about it.”
- Quinn Bailey