Beginnings, by Britta Benson


The morning sun rises boldly through cold

doubtful clouds with the fairytale shimmer

of confident curiosity. All will be well in

suspended disbelief. I still rage at the night,

paths lost in passing frights as we connect

and fall freely into new journeys together.

The generous hearts cross over to the light

long before solid thoughts allow themselves

to follow. We’re soul birds now and always.

Tiny, weightless, full and ready to soar.

Britta Benson

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