“The pause between waves is where understanding begins.”
Between breaths the world resets,
the heart unclasps its fist,
pain and peace together dwell,
and neither can resist.
Each feeling folds into the next,
no moment stands apart,
love and ache share equal ground,
inside an open heart.
-Kerri-Elizabeth-
By tomorrow, the pause will expand, inviting what has waited to be seen.
“Cleansing is not letting go of love, it is making room for it to move more freely.”
This week was not loud, or easy. It was a week of walking gently through silence, noticing what lingers and what begins to stir. The reflected stillness, yet stillness itself was full of memory, of love, of truths preparing to step into the light.
October asks for cleansing. It asks for a slowing down, to feel what has been carried, to honor transitions, ours and others, without any added definition or judgements. It invites strength through softness, courage through listening, and healing through awareness.
Even in silence, there is motion. Even in waiting, there is growth, even in absence, love is the presence that carries it all.
-Kerri-Elizabeth-
Next week, October’s stillness will meet October’s unveiling, and the light will not be held 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.
“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.
“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.
“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.
“Stillness is not absence, it is the veil through which the unseen speaks.”
The stillness of the season held a weight of its own. It wasn’t silence, not really, it was layered, veiled, filled with the press of what waited just beyond sight. Every pause felt like a curtain, and behind it, something breathed.
Walking through the forest, the quiet seemed to listen back. The crunch of leaves, the shift of wind, the sudden chill in the air, all reminders that stillness can carry more than noise ever could. The veil was thin here, between the seen and the unseen, between the everyday and the echo that refused to fade.
To live inside this season was to know that quiet is never empty, it is a message, waiting to be understood.
The veil of stillness bends and sways,
a breath that hides in quiet ways.
Not gone, not lost, but close, concealed,
in silence truths are most revealed.
Step with care, the air will keep,
the echoes waking from their sleep.
-Kerri-Elizabeth-
And just when the veil seemed steady, it trembled, as though something on the other side had reached back.
“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?
Emptiness carry’s its own weight, that slowly releases when noticed and nurtured with love.
There is a chair that waits,
its wooden frame holding
the shape of absence.
It remembers the weight
that once pressed into its seat,
the laughter that circled above it,
the warmth that is no longer there.
An empty chair is more than furniture.
It is a witness.
It holds silence the way a vessel
holds water,
quietly, steadily,
until the silence overflows.
You find yourself staring at it,
wondering if absence
can ever be filled
or if it must simply
be carried.
And still,
the chair remains,
a quiet sentinel
for what once was,
and what might one day return.
Tomorrow, the echo speaks…
~Kerri-Elizabeth~
The chair sits quietly, but it speaks of more than absence. Tomorrow, the echo will grow louder, carrying the sound of rejection through the walls.
The waiting room is not a place,
it is a season.
A space where clocks seem broken,
where time moves at an almost still water pace
present, yet unmoving.
You sit. You breathe.
You listen to the hum of unseen decisions
being shuffled behind invisible doors.
Every paper shuffled feels like a wind in the trees,
rustling with answers
you are not yet meant to hear.
Waiting stretches you.
It teaches that surrender is not defeat,
but a kind of quiet strength.
A knowing that love can hold you steady
even when the outcome trembles.
Through the window,
you see clouds piling in the distance.
They are , layered,
behind them the sun keeps burning,
unmoved by delay.
And in the silence,
you remember:
the sun does not rush,
and yet it always arrives.
You whisper love into the air,
not asking it to return,
only asking it to travel,
to find who it needs to reach.
The waiting is heavy,
but the love is light enough to carry.
And not all doors open into light…
~Kerri-Elizabeth~
The silence is thick, the outcome unseen. Somewhere beyond the door, decisions stir. Tomorrow, absence itself will take its place at the table.
SONSHINE FOR YOU 