Somewhere deep in the beds of moss, there is a heartbeat that slowly becomes clear. When brotherhood and the earth entwine, it rises to our ears, leaving strands of light.
The years whisper that hope is fragile, like the gossamer caterpillar nests, yet the threads hold when we need them to, even in moments that are scattered and torn.
The old wood that always left splinters in our growing hands and bare feet could never quench our freedom, but I left you behind, then found you again.
Brother, my brother, absence dulls intention. Let us stay close to the earth and listen. The lights are the dressings of love and are only lost in the veils of fear.
