“Every realization is a structure made of light and listening.”
Lines unseen yet certain,
drawn softly through the air,
patterns bloom from silence,
and truth is written there.
No wall, no roof, no border,
just space that learns to see,
that love designs the framework,
of what we’re meant to be.
-Kerri-Elizabeth-
Tomorrow, the structure will breathe, becoming motion instead of form.
“Light speaks first in a whisper, it does not scream.”
Edges blur, then soften,
light plays across the lake, like a fine tuned harp.
Truth reveals itself without demand,
its presence felt, while anticipating its conversation.
No hurry in its revealing,
no fear in what is found,
the heart learns to awaken,
to peace singing brilliant sounds.
-Kerri-Elizabeth-
By tomorrow, the whisper of light will touch places that once hid in shade.
“Revelation is not sudden, it is the slow kindness of light finding its way through.”
Morning came quiet but different. The fog that had held the cove in its arms began to thin, revealing outlines that had long been hidden. Nothing startling, just a soft unveiling, like the world remembering its own shape.
In that return of clarity was a gentle reminder: truth doesn’t rush. It waits for readiness. The same stillness that once felt heavy now shimmered with invitation. Leaves glistened with dew, each one a mirror of change already underway.
There was peace in not needing every answer yet. The unveiling itself was enough.
-Kerri-Elizabeth-
Tomorrow, the fog will rise , and what stands in full view may ask to be seen differently.
“Light never leaves, it shifts, it softens, it guides.”
A glow in the distance,
its flame teases, dim then bright,
a steady kind of whisper,
that warms the edge of night.
It doesn’t chase the shadows,
it doesn’t force them gone,
it simply keeps on shining,
like a quiet guiding song.
-Kerri-Elizabeth-
By tomorrow, the glow will meet the horizon, and the horizon will answer back.
“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.
“Some carry light without knowing its impact; others dim their own light, before it even has the chance to shine.”
Lanterns drift across the water,
their reflections bending with the ripples.
Each light carries a memory,
a secret folded into flame.
Some shine steady,
guiding without question.
Some flicker,
resisting the wind.
And some disappear
into the night
before anyone notices they were ever there.
But one lantern moves without a hand,
its glow untouched by flame or oil,
as if it belongs, solely to the heart itself,
a reminder that not all light
comes from what is held in the hand,
-Kerri-Elizabeth-
When that lantern passed, noone but me saw it, noone but me felt it, but the ripples on the water showed it was there and I knew its message.
SONSHINE FOR YOU 