“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?
“Every ending leans into a beginning, though the shape of it waits in silence.”
The week left its imprint across the cove, circles spreading on the water, shadows stretching thin, storms remembered in silence, and the quiet work of rebuilding. Each day felt like an echo of the one before, carrying truths further than anyone expected.
The voices of summer gatherings have dimmed. Lawns trimmed, boats pulled in, jet skis gone silent. Even in stillness, the air has its own weight, thick with the unspoken, alive with the sense that something always waits at the edge.
Every ripple, every whisper, every shadow was part of a larger story unfolding, not yet finished. And though the week has closed, the echoes remain, pressed into the silence, reminding us that waiting is never empty, it is a prelude.
Circles widen, shadows stay,
storms retreat, yet truths delay.
Rebuilding hums in quiet tones,
stillness breathes through broken stones.
The week has passed, yet nothing ends,
silence bends, and silence sends.
-Kerri-Elizabeth-
And as the veil of summer falls, the question lingers, when the next season rises, will it bring rest, or reveal what silence has been holding back?
“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.
There is a shiver where silence settles, not from the cold, but from the way truth presses against the walls.
Shadows lengthen, not because the light has shifted, but because deception stretches farther than we thought.
A pause is never just a pause. It is a weight. It is the sound of something unsaid carving a hollow behind the ribs.
Sometimes I wonder if silence is a shield or if it is a weapon, cutting deeper with every moment it holds back.
And yet, in the same stillness, a spark waits. A reminder that even in the grip of hidden lies, the body knows, the spirit remembers, and nothing stays buried forever.
-Kerri-Elizabeth- When silence finally breaks, will it whisper, or will it roar?
“At the edge of shadows, light waits to be seen, reminding us that endings are only thresholds to another beginning.”
Change doesn’t always come crashing.
Sometimes it lingers at the edges,
the way dusk slowly unravels daylight,
barely noticed until the sky is no longer blue.
There is a silence that weighs heavier than words.
It doesn’t scream, doesn’t accuse
it simply waits,
like a shadow just out of reach,
asking you to notice what has already shifted.
You walk through the day as if nothing has changed,
yet the air tastes different,
like rain just before it falls.
The trees seem to lean in,
the wind carries whispers you can’t quite hold.
Trust is not stolen in a single act,
it erodes,
grain by grain,
like cliffs giving way to the sea.
And by the time you notice the hollow beneath your feet,
the land is already gone.
You learn to sit with the silence,
to watch without rushing,
to let stillness teach you what words never will.
Because even in the shadows,
love can take new form
not the love that clings,
but the kind that releases into the wind,
trusting it will reach where it needs to go.
And somewhere in that silence, a storm is still gathering…
~Kerri-Elizabeth~
And still, the silence grows heavier, pressing against the walls of certainty. What happens when it finally breaks? Tomorrow, the storm begins to scatter its disguise.
SONSHINE FOR YOU 