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.

After the Eye

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

“Even calm carries the memory of the storm.”

The storm had passed, or so it seemed. Branches lay scattered across the shoreline, reminders of winds that tore through with little warning. The air was strangely still, too still, as if the cove itself held its breath. In the eye’s quiet aftermath, nothing moved, yet everything remembered.

Neighbors drifted back to their routines, but the silence between them said more than their words. The pause after chaos was never empty; it was full of everything no one dared to name.

After the eye, the silence stays,

broken branches, forgotten days.

Calm deceives, but truth remains,

etched in whispers, etched in veins.

The storm retreats, yet leaves behind,

the weight of echoes, sharp in mind.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-

And in that stillness, when everyone believed the worst had passed, a single sound rose again, too faint to name, but impossible to ignore.

In Shadows at the Edge

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

“Shadows lengthen where truths hesitate to speak.”

The shoreline carried a new weight as evening fell. Shadows crept further across the lawn, stretching toward the water as if trying to claim what daylight left behind. Conversations had thinned, but the sense of being overheard remained. Even in the silence, it felt as though someone was always just beyond the edge, listening, waiting, gathering what wasn’t meant to be shared.

At the cove’s edge, the air tightened. The laughter of summer had faded into a cautious quiet, and still the shadows seemed alive, as if they were listening harder than any ear.

At the edge where silence leans,

shadows breathe between the seams.

Every step feels drawn, contained,

by whispers echo cannot name.

What hides in dusk does not relent,

it waits in silence, unbent..

-Kerri-Elizabeth-

And just when the quiet seemed steady, a shift stirred in the dark,something more than a shadow, something no one had yet faced.

Circles on the Water

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

“Every ripple begins in silence, yet carries further than the eye can see.”

The cove had grown quieter, though the memory of voices lingered like the aftertaste of summer. A single splash broke the surface, spreading circles out into the stillness, carrying the night’s echoes further than intended. In the distance, laughter rose and fell, as if carried on the wind from a gathering already dissolving into memory. The water revealed what the voices tried to hide, how quickly joy could ripple into unease, how quickly the world reminded you that nothing was ever just surface.

The circles widened, crossing into one another, colliding, breaking apart, reforming. That is how whispers move. That is how truths travel.

Circles widened, one after another,

meeting in silence where voices falter.

Every echo pressed into the cove,

carrying secrets the night could not hold.

What begins in play does not stay contained,

even still water remembers the sounds.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-

But when the next circle broke the surface, it wasn’t laughter that carried with it, it was something else, something no one wanted spoken aloud.

Echoes That Return

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

“Every sound carries further than we imagine, weaving through silence, returning as echoes that remind us nothing is ever truly gone.

The cove was louder than my thoughts,

laughter bending against the stillness,

pressing its way into my chest.

I wanted to disappear,

to quiet what I could not control.

But vanishing has never healed a wound,

it only hides it deeper.

So I stayed.

I breathed.

I noticed.

The ache was not only mine.

It was the echo of every person

who has stood just outside the circle,

close enough to hear joy

but too far to be held in it.

The world is small,

and what we say travels farther than we know.

Words can cross water,

build bridges,

or set fires.

Today I chose to be still,

to let the echo pass through me

without becoming me.

~Kerri-Elizabeth ~

“When the next echo returns, will it stir the stillness like a storm’s edge, or settle in the silence as a truth softened by time?”

The Cove Within Earshot

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

“Distance is not always measured in miles, but in truth withheld.”

The sound of joy can be piercing when you stand outside of it. Laughter, music, the hum of boats, and it all carries across the water as if it belonged to me, too. But sound has a way of reminding us of what we are not part of.

It is a strange ache, to be so close and yet so far. A hundred feet. A breath of distance. And yet, it might as well have been a hundred miles. Because distance is never only about space. Sometimes it is about what is withheld, the belonging that is denied, the truth that is hidden, the words that never come.

I noticed how my body responded. My chest tightened, my breath grew shallow, as if the noise itself had weight. For a moment, I wanted to disappear into that pain. To quiet it by numbing it. That impulse startled me, not because it was powerful, but because it was new. The thought that not existing, even just for a while, might feel easier than existing with the ache.

But healing asks something different of us. It asks us to stay. To notice what rises, to feel it in the body, and to choose not to vanish. So I walked. I wrote. I lit candles and let salt water hold me. I chose presence, even when presence hurt. And in choosing presence, I found a kind of strength I did not know I had, the courage to sit with what is unbearable without trying to erase myself.

We all face these moments. Maybe not with sound across the water, but with the reminder of where we are not welcomed, of who has turned away, of what no longer includes us. The details may differ, but the ache is the same. The question is not how to erase it, but how to live through it, and in living through it, discover that we are stronger than the silence that excludes us.

In that, what was found, was a new silence that resonated peace, rather than questions or pain, a resilience that screamed, “I’m here, I’m you”.

~Kerri Elizabeth ~

What do we do when the noise around us becomes louder than the peace within us? Do we disappear into it, or do we rise above it and let it sharpen our awareness instead?

The Edge of Return

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth


 

“Once a path is crossed, there is no going back the same.”

The weeks have built like storm layers. First, the whispers, faint but insistent, pressing through the silence until the air itself trembled. Then came the shadows, lengthening across the floor, teaching that stillness is rarely still. Behind each step, a veil, a mask, another curtain drawn back to reveal yet another. Nothing is ever only what it seems.

Smoke drifted next, curling in places where no flame could be seen, carrying its warning and its lure. A door followed, breathing in the stillness, daring someone to open it or wait for it to open itself. And when ears leaned closer, even the walls betrayed their silence, exhaling a hollow breath that carried more memory than any voice could hold.

Now, here at the cliff’s edge, the journey gathers itself. Every whisper, every shiver, every veil, every trace of smoke, every hollow breath presses forward until the ground no longer feels certain. This is where endings and beginnings blur into one.

And the question rises: is the force that follows a who, lurking behind the veil? A where, waiting beyond the smoke? A when, buried in the silence, biding its time until the door swings wide? Or is it only the raw truth of an emotion, held too long, now demanding to be felt?

The cliff gives no answer. It only waits, patient and unmoving, daring the next step.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-
When the ground falls away, is it the body that falls, or the emotions that held on too tight to the silence that was never still? Is it the silence that shatters, or the heart that finally speaks? The answers continue to linger just beyond reach. Week Four is next to arrive.

The Hollow Breath

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

 

“Walls remember even when we forget.”

There is a breath behind the wall,
steady,
unforgiving.

It doesn’t belong to anyone you can see,
but it belongs here,
and it remembers.

The air bends with it,
timbers strain against it,
like the house itself
is carrying secrets too heavy for its beams.

A hollow breath is not empty,
it is filled with what was never spoken,
pressed tight,
compressed into the bones of the room.

You lean closer,
and realize it isn’t just breath.
It is waiting.
It is watching.
It is daring you to hear it fully.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-

Do you hear it, the breath behind the door? What if it’s closer than you thought? Is the door a person or place?

The Hollow Door

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth


 “Every door that closes keeps something in, or out.”

The door looked ordinary at first glance. Solid wood and a handle worn with use and a hinge that sung when touched. But not all doors are what they seem. This one breathed. Not in the way lungs fill with air, but in the way walls sometimes exhale when a house remembers too much.

It stood half-open, an invitation or a warning, no one could tell. The silence behind it was heavier than silence should be, weighted as if holding something alive. The choice hovered in the air: step forward and face it, or turn away and never know.

What lies behind such a door is never random. Sometimes it’s memory, sometimes it’s reckoning. But always, it is something waiting to be seen. Healing may come from opening, so may truth and courage.

And so the door holds its place, daring someone to cross the threshold.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-
What if the door opens itself? What then pours into the room, and who will be left standing when it does?