Parked my car, woman In the next car, sobbing. I Want to comfort, can’t.
If my trauma response could speak, what would it say?It would say , “it’s not going to get better. It’s only going to get worse.
Grief and heartache wracks Your chest, deepest tensions are Loosed, new light enters.
Life is calling. I Hear it out there, beautiful And free. Resurgent.
Hairy hands, broadly Built blacksmith, craftsman, barrel Chested, devoted Husband to Laura. Of the Tuatha de Danaan. All was green forest. “Patience,” he counsels. “For
After seven months of abstaining from alcohol, my wife and I toasted the harvest last night with a glass of champagne, a gift from our