The Uneasy Path

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth


 

“Every step taken in uncertainty teaches the body how to listen.”

The path curled along the lake’s edge, shadowed by trees that leaned too close. Each breeze seemed to carry a question.

Which one will fall next?

Yet along that unease came another sound, soft, delicate, a flutter that carried no threat. Chickadees darted through the air, their tiny wings quick as whispers. One landed nearby, black cap gleaming, eyes alert yet curious. It had learned the rhythm of hands, the offering of nuts, the trust of presence.

The unease of walking beneath breaking branches met the wonder of a bird that dared to come close enough to touch. Nature carried both at once, fear and comfort, uncertainty and grace. And in that balance, the path continued.

There is no promise of what is next, only the awarness that what is next, is coming.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-
Tomorrow, the path will blur, what waits at its end may not be seen until the fog reveals it.

Cracks in the Quiet

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth


 “Even silence has a breaking point.”

The forest doesn’t hold its breath,
it lives within them,
it sends a hush before the Fall,
as geese cut through the sky.

The silence cracks wide open,
and stillness tells it all,
branches bow then splinter,
yet roots refuse to fall.

The lake reflects the fracture,
as ripples circle wide,
shadows stretch their fingers,
with nowhere left to hide.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-

Truth doesnt stay down, it seeks the surface to be found. By tomorrow, the cracks will spread, revealing more than silence can contain.

The Sound of Splintering

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth


“One crack in the silence can change the rhythm of everything.”

The forest did not fall all at once. It whispered first, dry branches rattling like bones against each other, before a single splinter cut through the air. The pause between splinter and collapse was long enough to hold an entire world of wonder, what direction, what cost, what unknown was about to unfold.

When the fall came, it thundered against the earth, stirring the geese from the shoreline. Their wings beat heavy against the fog as if carrying a message, move, shift, find new ground before the next branch decides.

Even the lake absorbed the sound, sending rings of movement outward, carrying the echo into places unseen. It was not destruction. It was instruction. A reminder that endings are also beginnings, and that the weight of silence is never empty, it is waiting for its next note.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-


Tomorrow, the echo will return in another form, one carried on wings.

Echoes in the Stillness

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth


 “Stillness carries echoes louder than any storm.”

Branches bow then break unseen,

a gust decides what might have been.

Shadows move where no one stands,

truth rests quiet in shifting lands.

Water shares its reflection all around,

and time is nowhere to be found.

Perception leads the way while emotions

dance and sway. 

Wonder is everywhere within reach,

and wings leave fragments guiding peace.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-


By tomorrow, the stillness will no longer wait—it will press closer.

When the Silence Cracks

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

 “Even in the stillness, the storm learns to whisper its secrets through the trees.

The cove held its breath, a canvas washed in muted tones of gray and gold. Every ripple on the lake mirrored the sky’s hesitation, as if water and air had made a silent pact not to disturb what was shifting beneath.

Then came the sound, sharp, brittle, alive. The crack of wood surrendering after months of summer dryness. A tree gave way, carving its own path with no regard for what it might strike. The silence before and after was as loud as the fall itself.

Somewhere between the rush of the wind and the echo of impact, time stretched thin. It was no longer about a tree, or even the danger of where it landed. It was about the reminder that nothing stands forever untouched. Even what feels steady can be remade in a single breath of change.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-


Tomorrow, silence will shift again, not by breaking, but by carrying a voice that does not belong to the wind.

Wrap Up

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

“Every season of waiting is also a season of becoming.”


The week has carried us through circles of silence, through choices made in stillness, through the remembering that every step leaves its imprint. Each day layered upon the last like waves upon the shore, not erasing what came before, but reshaping it.

We’ve walked with echoes that refused to fade, with presences that reminded us we are never truly alone, and with the quiet knowing that even in rebuilding, the cracks we carry hold their own kind of light.

This is not an ending, but a gathering. A collection of moments that teach us to stand softer, to listen deeper, and to let our presence ripple outward with kindness, even when we don’t yet know how far it will reach.

And so, as the next week folds into stillness, one truth remains,
what we are waiting for is not separate from us.
It is shaping us even now.
It is asking us not to rush forward,
but to breathe into the pause,
and trust what the next step will reveal.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-


Beyond the quiet, sometimes stillness, motion is always in sequence, something shifts, not loudly, but unmistakably. Tomorrow will ask us to step closer.

The Quiet Rebuild

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth


 

“Resilience doesn’t erase the cracks, it teaches, where to shine light.”


The house stands again,
its walls straight, its seams sealed.
From the outside,
all appears whole.

But wholeness is not the absence of breaks.
It is the memory of them,
the quiet strength they leave behind.
The wood remembers the fracture.
The stone remembers the weight.
And in remembering, they endure differently,
not in innocence, but in wisdom.

Rebuilding is not pretending nothing happened.
It is honoring the cracks,
welcoming the light that seeps through them,
choosing to rise again,
knowing that what was once broken
can still hold,
can still stand,
can still carry.

Stillness settles differently after the storm.
It carries the hum of survival,
the rhythm of resilience,
the quiet promise that nothing ends here,
it only changes shape.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-


And just as the night leaned into rest, I felt it, a subtle shift, not to disturb the peace, but to remind me that even in rebuilding, life keeps moving, and tomorrow always asks us to meet it again.

The Shadow Between Houses

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

 “Distance is an illusion when silence carries across the same ground.”


Evening softened across the cove, folding light into shadow. From the living room window, I saw a figure move, not hurried, not hiding, but steady. A quiet presence crossing the space where one yard ends and another begins, a place where no one claims ownership, and yet everyone’s life touches.

The air seemed to hold them gently, carrying the sense that some movements are not meant to be announced but simply witnessed. No doors closed, no alarms stirred, only the silence of night receiving what passed through it.

I thought of how often our lives cross this way, not in grand gestures, but in quiet intersections, unnoticed until later, when we realize how deeply one path has brushed against our own.

It was not about fear, but about remembering, even in stillness, stories are walking beside us. Even in silence, lives overlap, and sometimes we don’t see the meaning until long after the steps have faded.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-


And as morning dew traced the grass, faint steps remained, a gentle reminder that we are never alone in the crossing, even when the path feels solitary.

Circles of Impact

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth


 

“Every presence leaves a wake, choose how yours will move the water.”


The lake was still, yet even stillness remembers.
One small gesture, a pebble, a word, a glance,
and the surface shifts.
Circles form quietly,
but they travel farther than the eye can follow.

We forget how far our presence carries.
How even silence has weight.
How even waiting is an act of impact.
The ripples do not ask our permission,
they move outward,
touching natures gifts, brushing sand,
until they quietly settle away from
where they began.

This is the legacy of every moment,
to ripple into places unseen but never gone.
To leave behind a pattern that lingers
long after the stone leaves its impression.

So we are asked,
What do we place into the water?
Do we drop fear like a heavy stone,
or do we let kindness fall softly,
so the circles carry healing instead of harm?

To wait before speaking
is not weakness,
it is remembering that our words will travel,
that the echo will belong to more than us.
Every ripple teaches us,
we are always shaping something,
seen or unseen,
known or unknown.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-


And as the last circle stretched toward the farthest shore, I felt the truth of it, the wait itself is part of the impact, and tomorrow will reveal how far it can reach.

The Guest of Stillness

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth


 “Every silence asks what you will do with it.”


The evening gathered gently, as if the air itself wanted to sit down beside me. There was no rush of voices, no urgency of sound, only a pause that stretched long enough for me to notice my own heartbeat.

Stillness often arrives uninvited, yet it is never without purpose. It presses on the corners we overlook, draws us toward what we would rather set aside. It doesn’t demand an answer, only presence. To stay with it long enough to learn what it is showing.

In that pause, I realized stillness is not empty. It carries questions:
What needs my attention?
What needs to be left in peace?
What requires change?
What asks me to wait?

And deeper still, it asks: When the time comes to speak, what will my presence leave behind?

Our impact is not only in words but in the silence that shapes them, in the choices that decide whether we react or respond. Stillness reminds us: we are responsible for the wake we create, even when we believe we are standing still.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-


And in the quiet that followed, I felt it, the weight of choice. Tomorrow would not ask me to fill the silence, but to honor it, and to let my answer carry intentions.