(no subject)

[searingedrock]

Woke up early on Saturday, the magic time, clouds in the hills and the sun peeping through over the top, shining and me and coffee sitting quietly.  I am writing, trying to find ideas for my short stories.  There is a quiet brimming sort of happiness.  I have my music on and some rift of music reverberates within and something opens and I am crying with happiness, like a maniac, because I realise I'm still here.  Alina-who-was, all sharp edges and glowing fullness, is there, wild and always free.  There is hope in the sunlight shining, and the birds fighting for their breakfasts and the breeze that finds its way inland from the ocean, cool and salty, and there is hope in the breath that finds its way in and out.  Into an arid soil there flowed quietly some cool clear brook, and filled it and around it bloomed growing things and flowers and a tree that was gnarled grew tiny new leaves.  The clouds and wind were kisses for the life that loves us all, without expectations, without rules, only that we treasure it in everything, in each other, and in ourselves.