Month: September 2025

The Unexpected Crossing

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

“Chance meetings are not chance at all, they are threads we’re meant to see.“

”The air was sharp with cedar and salt as I stepped into the small island store. The history of presence in the floors carried every footstep, every shift of weight, like a memory refusing to fade. My hand reached for a vase on the shelf, next to me, a reflection in the glass door, soft, startling and familiar.

Our eyes met. A smile formed, but it felt both familiar and unfamiliar, as if it belonged to another time. An emotion of familiarity exchanged, light yet unforgettable, the silence beneath spoke even louder. Silence that carried something unfinished, something that asked to be noticed.

Outside, gulls cried over the cove while the sky bent toward dusk. We parted ways in direction, but not in weight. I walked on, carrying the sense that the path was not finished with us yet.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-


That night, footsteps crossed the dock in steady rhythm, pressing the wood as if retracing the very moment I had tried to leave behind.


Confetti in the Storm

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

“Beauty does not erase the storm, it scatters through it, refusing to be silenced.”

The storm came without warning, breaking through the quiet that had settled over the week. Branches bent, rain lashed the windows, the air electric with change. Yet even in the chaos, there was color, leaves torn from the trees swirled like confetti, fragments of beauty scattered through the violence of wind.

It was a reminder that storms do not arrive only to destroy. They strip away, they reveal, they scatter what might otherwise remain hidden. And sometimes, within the upheaval, there is a defiant beauty, a reminder that even in the fiercest moments, life finds a way to shimmer.

The storm ended, as they always do, but the ground was littered with fragments, evidence that something had passed through, leaving both ruin and radiance in its wake.

Confetti falls through raging skies,

a storm where hidden beauty lies.

The winds may tear, the rains may break,

yet colors rise and awake.

No silence steals, no shadow wins,

the storm reveals what still begins.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-

And as the storm’s last echo faded, one truth lingered, what it revealed cannot be gathered back again.

The Chair at the Edge

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

“Even the empty chair listens, holding the weight of what’s been left unsaid.”

At the edge of the lawn, a chair sat untouched. Its presence was simple, but it carried more than wood and fabric. Empty seats are never empty, they hold the memory of voices, the press of conversations unfinished, the echoes of what may have been spoken but wasn’t.

In the cooling air, the chair became a witness. Every rustle of leaves, every faint sound drifting across the cove seemed to lean toward it, as if the silence itself demanded to be heard. The absence of someone there was louder than any gathering could have been.

The chair waited, steady at the edge, holding a space that could not be ignored.

An empty chair is never bare,

it holds the weight of those not there.

It gathers whispers, keeps the sound,

of words that never left the ground.

It waits in silence, still, contained,

with stories that linger and remain.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-

And in the waiting, the chair seemed to promise, what is unsaid will one day return, and it will not be as quiet.

Through the Veil of Stillness

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

“Stillness is not absence, it is the veil through which the unseen speaks.”

The stillness of the season held a weight of its own. It wasn’t silence, not really, it was layered, veiled, filled with the press of what waited just beyond sight. Every pause felt like a curtain, and behind it, something breathed.

Walking through the forest, the quiet seemed to listen back. The crunch of leaves, the shift of wind, the sudden chill in the air, all reminders that stillness can carry more than noise ever could. The veil was thin here, between the seen and the unseen, between the everyday and the echo that refused to fade.

To live inside this season was to know that quiet is never empty, it is a message, waiting to be understood.

The veil of stillness bends and sways,

a breath that hides in quiet ways.

Not gone, not lost, but close, concealed,

in silence truths are most revealed.

Step with care, the air will keep,

the echoes waking from their sleep.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-

And just when the veil seemed steady, it trembled, as though something on the other side had reached back.

A Quiet Refrain

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

“Some truths do not shout, they return softly, again and again, until they are heard.”

The season had grown quieter, but silence was never truly empty. It carried a refrain, repeating in unexpected ways, through a name overheard in passing, a story unfolding in a stranger’s voice, a meeting that seemed too precise to be coincidence.

The echoes no longer came from loud gatherings; they rose instead from subtler places. The forest trail, where a branch broke at the exact moment a thought arrived. The phone ringing with news that linked one life to another in ways no one could have planned. The refrain was not a song, it was a persistence, a reminder that some truths will keep circling back until we finally face them.

Every pause seemed to hum with what wasn’t said. In the quiet, the refrain was louder than ever.

Softly it comes, again, again,

a whisper threading through the plain.

No shout, no cry, no storm to send,

just truth repeating without end.

What will not fade returns in kind,

a quiet refrain that bends the mind.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-

And as the refrain lingered in the air, the question grew, was it just an awareness or an invitation to listen more closely?

The Tide Left Behind

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

“What recedes does not vanish, it lingers in the sand, waiting to be found again.”

The tide had pulled back, leaving traces scattered across the shore. A broken shell, a tangled string of weeds, footprints pressed into damp sand, evidence that nothing ever truly disappears. What drifts away always leaves its mark, quiet but undeniable.

In the stillness of the season’s change, the tide seemed to mirror the way life pressed its echoes into unexpected places. A stranger’s story at a shop, a familiar voice on the phone, the uncanny way paths cross where they shouldn’t. Just as the water recedes, only to rise again, the people and moments we think have gone often return, different, altered, yet still carrying the imprint of before.

The tide left behind more than shells and silt. It left questions, reminders, and the uneasy knowing that what has gone out will always, in some way, come back in.

The water retreats, but it does not erase,

it leaves its memory upon the face

of stones and sand, of whispered ground,

where every echo waits to be found.

The tide withdraws with expression

what drifts away, leaves an impression.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-

And as the tide whispered its return, it was clear, what comes back does not arrive the same.

When the Wild Calls in the Dawn

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

“Morning carries its own storm, if you rise early enough to hear it.”

The dawn arrived differently now. No boats cut across the cove, no voices spilled into the night. Instead, the wild called in quieter ways, through the rustle of branches, the sudden flight of birds, the faint sound of footsteps where no one was seen. Rising early meant stepping into a world not yet touched by noise, a world that belonged to whispers.

It was here, in the sharp edge of morning air, that the echoes carried differently. Not from parties or crowded lawns, but through chance meetings, phone calls, and unexpected threads that tied lives together. The wild had not left with summer; it had shifted shape. It lingered in the forest paths, in the way names surfaced in conversations, in the way strangers became mirrors of something known.

The dawn had its own wildness, one that could not be seen but only felt, an undercurrent moving through silence, promising that what waits just beyond will always find a way to return.

The dawn does not rise in silence,

it whispers beneath the trees,

breath of shadows bending low,

calling through the leaves.

Wildness wears a softer face,

a chill across the skin,

a whisper where the world begins,

a storm that stirs within.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-

And as the morning deepened, the call grew sharper, as if the wild was waiting to reveal something hidden in the stillness.

Gathering of Week Four

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

“Every ending leans into a beginning, though the shape of it waits in silence.”

The week left its imprint across the cove, circles spreading on the water, shadows stretching thin, storms remembered in silence, and the quiet work of rebuilding. Each day felt like an echo of the one before, carrying truths further than anyone expected.

The voices of summer gatherings have dimmed. Lawns trimmed, boats pulled in, jet skis gone silent. Even in stillness, the air has its own weight, thick with the unspoken, alive with the sense that something always waits at the edge.

Every ripple, every whisper, every shadow was part of a larger story unfolding, not yet finished. And though the week has closed, the echoes remain, pressed into the silence, reminding us that waiting is never empty, it is a prelude.

Circles widen, shadows stay,

storms retreat, yet truths delay.

Rebuilding hums in quiet tones,

stillness breathes through broken stones.

The week has passed, yet nothing ends,

silence bends, and silence sends.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-

And as the veil of summer falls, the question lingers, when the next season rises, will it bring rest, or reveal what silence has been holding back?

Waiting

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

“Stillness is never empty, it is a pause before the next unveiling.”

The cove was hushed now. No boats cut across the water, no voices carried into the night. Only the hum of insects and the faint shift of branches filled the air. Waiting had its own weight, heavier than noise, heavier than storms. It pressed against the chest like a truth not yet spoken.

Every step across the lawn, every glance toward the shore felt watched, though no one was there. In waiting, even the air feels alive with questions. It isn’t silence that unsettles, it’s the sense that something is gathering just beyond it.

In waiting, silence leans to hear,

the trace of whispers drawing near.

The air is thick, the night is long,

the heart repeats a muted song.

What’s held at bay will one day break,

and shift the stillness in its wake.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-

And when the waiting finally ends, will it arrive softly, or split the silence wide open?

A Quiet Rebuilding

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

“What falls apart teaches the silence how to begin again.”

The shoreline no longer echoed with parties or engines. Lawns were trimmed, flowers clipped, boats pulled in one by one. The cove seemed emptier, though in its emptiness, a different kind of sound began and quieter, steadier, like the whisper of things piecing themselves back together.

There was no announcement, no grand return. Just the slow work of repair: a chair moved back under the porch, a light left on in the evening, a conversation spoken softly enough to stay contained. What was torn open by storms and shadows began to find its way into a quieter shape, though not without the reminder that everything carries its cost.

Boards reset where waves had worn,

hands rebuild what storms had torn.

Quiet hums where chaos slept,

promises whispered, silence kept.

Rebuilding comes not loud, but slow,

a softer edge to what we know.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-

Yet even in rebuilding, silence never stays empty for long, the next echo always waits just beyond reach.