And soon the days will be long again. The warmth will lay on the earth, our bodies, like a blanket. The bees will wake up and resume their wings beating, create more of that precious sun honey that drips onto tongue and drizzles over berries. Books will be read among tall grass, stories will be told around fire, poems will be whispered to the cold river waters, songs sung to the aging green mountains.
We'll be dancing on sunbeams.
Kissing the light of fireflies.
About the Creator
Erika Edberg
Part time bard serving whispers from forgotten kingdoms.
windwitch.substack.com
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Bugs
All of the bugs have finally gone to rest. No longer will they sing and scream when the sun hits their yearning forms. It will be many long, cold days before they wake up and serenade the world again. A consistent soundtrack for the days of sun and warmth. I guess I can admit that I already miss them and the way they make this existence seem less empty and alone. As much as I try to avoid it, humans have very much cut themselves off from much of the living world. Isolated ourself to our cozy houses where unless a window is cracked or a door left open, not much of the external world can leak inside. The reality that so many of us see a crawling of the outside world within our own fortress and we curse it, crush it, and kill it, then disposing of it in our carefully hidden cans of shameful refuse. Anything that is not prim, proper, and orderly is cast out and deemed unacceptable. Maybe that’s why I like a little dust in my corners, the occasional eight-legged guardian, and some dirt trailed in from a recent excursion to the land outside of these walls. Maybe that’s why I don’t mind a little clutter and madness, it seems to keep me grounded, not exiled to a world of sterility and imagined perfection.
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Oh wow 🤩 gorgeous