“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.
“Physical absence does not move love away, it shows us how deeply it remains.”
October always arrived carrying lanterns unseen. They glowed quietly, guiding steps through the fog, reminding that presence is not limited to what we touch.
The lanterns belonged to memory, to love that had shifted form, to a connection that time could not unravel. Even as years moved faster than seemed possible, love remained steady. Each flame flickered with guidance, urging forward without losing what had been.
The month is not heavy in despair, but rich in reflection. It asks for slowing down, for honoring what cannot be replaced, for finding strength not by resisting, but by walking with it.
-Kerri-Elizabeth-
Tomorrow, the lanterns will stretch their glow further, casting gentle light into hidden corners.
“The light of memory burns steady, even when the fog refuses to part.”
October bends the branches
yet truth does not let go,
the fog folds into silence,
where only shadows know.
Time does not move slower,
though memory begs it stay,
eight years slip like water,
yet love always finds its way.
The lake holds back its secrets,
the moon records each tear,
a storm stirs out of silence,
its thunder drawing near.
Still hope becomes a lantern,
still strength is gathered whole,
October writes its chapters
on the canvas of the soul.
-Kerri-Elizabeth-
Tomorrow, the lanterns will stand against the fog, and the week will close with the what comes next.
How do you navigate within the inner fog?
Do you know without a doubt it lifts and the waiting is never empty, it is where the healing is being done?
“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.
“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.
“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?
SONSHINE FOR YOU 