“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.
“Stillness holds the softest truths, if we dare to listen.”
The quiet is not hollow,
it hums beneath the air,
a gentle kind of holding,
a presence always there.
No need for sharp reminders,
the silence speaks enough,
in stillness hearts grow softer,
in waiting we find trust.
-Kerri-Elizabeth-
By tomorrow, the stillness will shift into a light that cannot be ignored.
“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?
“Shadows in fog are not illusions, they are invitations to wonder.”
The mist conceals the edges,
yet shadows learn to stay,
not fading but awaiting,
the lift in the break of day.
The cove holds secrets steady,
the dock does not retreat,
what waits is not imagined,
but truth with covered feet.
-Kerri-Elizabeth-
By tomorrow, the shadows will lean closer, daring the stillness to break. Is it the stillness within or the stillness that is not our own, awaiting the inevitable rumble, where will you be when the rumble is heard and are you easily moved?
“The fog does not hide the truth, it prepares us to see it.”
A veil across the water,
a breath between the ripples,
the cove keeps what is stirring,
while silence slowly hides.
Not in absence, but a waiting,
not gone but not yet near,
the fog breathes out its secret,
then pulls it back with intention.
-Kerri-Elizabeth-
By tomorrow, the breath of the fog will not be enough, movement will rise.
“October speaks both in celebration and reflection.”
Candles burn where silence stays,
the cove folds into shorter days.
Wings cut air in sudden flight,
the lake reflects both morning and night.
-Kerri-Elizabeth-
Reflection expresses and silence presses. October’s voice will close this week, yet it will not end, only turn the page.
“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.
“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.
The calm at the center is never the end, only the breath before the breaking.
The eye of the storm
is a dangerous kindness
a pause that lets you believe
the worst has passed.
But brisk breezes always comes,
and when it does,
you learn the shape of your own shelter,
the sound of your own voice
calling yourself home.
After it breaks,
you walk barefoot through the wreckage,
feeling for the edges of what’s still whole.
Not everything scattered
was worth keeping.
Not everything left standing
is meant to stay.
Sometimes survival
is not about rebuilding
it’s about learning
how to breathe
in the spaces
the wind has cleared.
~Kerri-Elizabeth-
The storms we survive are not just weather they are mirrors, showing us what cannot be moved, and what we can no longer carry. This series walks those paths, one day at a time, through the shifting light after the eye has passed. The next part waits just beyond the next gust.
The wind bends through the trees
in a language only the leaves understand,
a soft push, a whispered lifting,
a reminder that even the heaviest branches
can sway.
Above me, the sky is stitched in blues
deep as secrets in one breath,
light as forgiveness in another.
The pines stand like sentinels,
their green unwavering,
while some branches hold the yellow
of quiet endings.
Others are bare,
their story already returned to the earth.
Light slips between the gaps,
casting shapes across the grass,
the way truth sneaks through silence.
A bird trusts my open hand,
takes a peanut,
and disappears into the moving green.
All around me
cones scattered like unwritten sentences,
blackberries winding their own wild paragraphs,
shadows folding and unfolding
as clouds wander by
chaos and peace live side by side,
neither asking permission of the other.
Here, betrayals fall like pine cones.
They hit the ground with a weight
you cannot always hear,
but you can feel.
Left long enough,
the sharp edges soften,
they sink into the soil,
they turn to compost.
Not gone,
but changed.
And yet,
in the curated corners of the world,
none of this is written.
Only the polished pictures remain,
smiles framed without the ones
who bore the weight.
The heavy lifters left outside the lens,
while those untouched by the labor
stand centered in the frame,
as if they had carried it all along.
But the forest keeps the full story.
It holds the fallen and the standing,
the loyal roots and the broken limbs.
It tells me:
Feel the break.
Release the weight.
Root again.
And so I lay it here,
at the feet of the pines,
where wind can carry what I cannot,
where the ground knows
how to turn even the deepest cuts
into something that can grow again.
~Kerri-Elizabeth~
The unraveling, the walk through the parts of the forest no one shows on social media!!!
SONSHINE FOR YOU 