reflection

The Covered Path

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth


 “What is hidden is not gone, it waits to be revealed in time.”

The path along the cove disappeared beneath fallen leaves. Yet anyone who had walked it before knew it was still there. Hidden, yes. Erased, no.

October does this, it covers what is known, so that discovery can happen again. It invites patience, a slowing down, an awareness that not everything is meant to be seen all at once.

Walking the covered path became an act of trust. Each step pressed into leaves that whispered: truth cannot stay buried forever. It will rise when the season is right.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-
Tomorrow, the path will clear a little more, what will you see differently?

The Glow

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth


 

“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.

Lanterns in October

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth


 “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 Quiet Decision

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

 “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.

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 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.

Lanterns In the Dark

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth


 “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.

When the Wild Calls in the Dawn

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

“Morning carries its own storm, if you rise early enough to hear it.”

The dawn arrived differently now. No boats cut across the cove, no voices spilled into the night. Instead, the wild called in quieter ways, through the rustle of branches, the sudden flight of birds, the faint sound of footsteps where no one was seen. Rising early meant stepping into a world not yet touched by noise, a world that belonged to whispers.

It was here, in the sharp edge of morning air, that the echoes carried differently. Not from parties or crowded lawns, but through chance meetings, phone calls, and unexpected threads that tied lives together. The wild had not left with summer; it had shifted shape. It lingered in the forest paths, in the way names surfaced in conversations, in the way strangers became mirrors of something known.

The dawn had its own wildness, one that could not be seen but only felt, an undercurrent moving through silence, promising that what waits just beyond will always find a way to return.

The dawn does not rise in silence,

it whispers beneath the trees,

breath of shadows bending low,

calling through the leaves.

Wildness wears a softer face,

a chill across the skin,

a whisper where the world begins,

a storm that stirs within.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-

And as the morning deepened, the call grew sharper, as if the wild was waiting to reveal something hidden in the stillness.

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.