novemberists

Things change when fog hits November soil. Things once overlooked are now seen. The leaves a certain hue of amber that compliment the gold of sun down. The way damp grass feels on bare feet, the cold ground on soft skin. Ashamed as I am to have overlooked such beauty, I have found faith in it’s simplicity.

rooted

Sometimes you have to remind yourself to breathe,to come back to where you want to be. I’m still here; Dew covering my face, I’m just another blade of grass, walk all over me.

What does it really feel like to breathe? I wouldn’t know. I’ve spent my whole life living in this cardboard box choking on dust. For once, I just want to know what it feels like to have the swollen sea spilling like tears all over my legs, to see lilies sighing in their solemnity,in their desolation. But still they remain content, fearless, rooted.