“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.
“Every step taken in uncertainty teaches the body how to listen.”
The path curled along the lake’s edge, shadowed by trees that leaned too close. Each breeze seemed to carry a question.
Which one will fall next?
Yet along that unease came another sound, soft, delicate, a flutter that carried no threat. Chickadees darted through the air, their tiny wings quick as whispers. One landed nearby, black cap gleaming, eyes alert yet curious. It had learned the rhythm of hands, the offering of nuts, the trust of presence.
The unease of walking beneath breaking branches met the wonder of a bird that dared to come close enough to touch. Nature carried both at once, fear and comfort, uncertainty and grace. And in that balance, the path continued.
There is no promise of what is next, only the awarness that what is next, is coming.
-Kerri-Elizabeth-
Tomorrow, the path will blur, what waits at its end may not be seen until the fog reveals it.
“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.
“One crack in the silence can change the rhythm of everything.”
The forest did not fall all at once. It whispered first, dry branches rattling like bones against each other, before a single splinter cut through the air. The pause between splinter and collapse was long enough to hold an entire world of wonder, what direction, what cost, what unknown was about to unfold.
When the fall came, it thundered against the earth, stirring the geese from the shoreline. Their wings beat heavy against the fog as if carrying a message, move, shift, find new ground before the next branch decides.
Even the lake absorbed the sound, sending rings of movement outward, carrying the echo into places unseen. It was not destruction. It was instruction. A reminder that endings are also beginnings, and that the weight of silence is never empty, it is waiting for its next note.
-Kerri-Elizabeth-
Tomorrow, the echo will return in another form, one carried on wings.
“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.
“Even in the stillness, the storm learns to whisper its secrets through the trees.
The cove held its breath, a canvas washed in muted tones of gray and gold. Every ripple on the lake mirrored the sky’s hesitation, as if water and air had made a silent pact not to disturb what was shifting beneath.
Then came the sound, sharp, brittle, alive. The crack of wood surrendering after months of summer dryness. A tree gave way, carving its own path with no regard for what it might strike. The silence before and after was as loud as the fall itself.
Somewhere between the rush of the wind and the echo of impact, time stretched thin. It was no longer about a tree, or even the danger of where it landed. It was about the reminder that nothing stands forever untouched. Even what feels steady can be remade in a single breath of change.
-Kerri-Elizabeth-
Tomorrow, silence will shift again, not by breaking, but by carrying a voice that does not belong to the wind.
“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.
“Beauty does not erase the storm, it scatters through it, refusing to be silenced.”
The storm came without warning, breaking through the quiet that had settled over the week. Branches bent, rain lashed the windows, the air electric with change. Yet even in the chaos, there was color, leaves torn from the trees swirled like confetti, fragments of beauty scattered through the violence of wind.
It was a reminder that storms do not arrive only to destroy. They strip away, they reveal, they scatter what might otherwise remain hidden. And sometimes, within the upheaval, there is a defiant beauty, a reminder that even in the fiercest moments, life finds a way to shimmer.
The storm ended, as they always do, but the ground was littered with fragments, evidence that something had passed through, leaving both ruin and radiance in its wake.
Confetti falls through raging skies,
a storm where hidden beauty lies.
The winds may tear, the rains may break,
yet colors rise and awake.
No silence steals, no shadow wins,
the storm reveals what still begins.
-Kerri-Elizabeth-
And as the storm’s last echo faded, one truth lingered, what it revealed cannot be gathered back again.
“Even the empty chair listens, holding the weight of what’s been left unsaid.”
At the edge of the lawn, a chair sat untouched. Its presence was simple, but it carried more than wood and fabric. Empty seats are never empty, they hold the memory of voices, the press of conversations unfinished, the echoes of what may have been spoken but wasn’t.
In the cooling air, the chair became a witness. Every rustle of leaves, every faint sound drifting across the cove seemed to lean toward it, as if the silence itself demanded to be heard. The absence of someone there was louder than any gathering could have been.
The chair waited, steady at the edge, holding a space that could not be ignored.
An empty chair is never bare,
it holds the weight of those not there.
It gathers whispers, keeps the sound,
of words that never left the ground.
It waits in silence, still, contained,
with stories that linger and remain.
-Kerri-Elizabeth-
And in the waiting, the chair seemed to promise, what is unsaid will one day return, and it will not be as quiet.
“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.
SONSHINE FOR YOU 