Trees
The trees whisper
their ease
to me.
Be rooted,
they say.
Go deep.
Never fear that
there’s so much
of you in the dark
that is never seen.
Shape yourself
in flow with
the prevailing winds.
Bend.
Lean.
Allow your self to be seasoned,
they say.
Let things go.
But also, sweet child,
let things grow.
May the parts of you that are ready to emerge anew find their budding.
May the parts of you that are held tight, afraid of the light, find the courage of their unfurling.
May the parts of you that are fragile blossom be met with the lift of only the gentlest lilting winds.
May the parts of you that are your unique hue shine out, unapologetically, against the backdrop of blue.
May you feel sure of you.
Rooted. Reaching. Resting steady.
Ready.
Knowing. Slowing. Growing.
Branching. Blossoming. Blooming.
Heart-sure that your precise kind of humaning - in all its fragility, in all its frills, in all its flaws - is the most splendrous kind of flowering.
You are great boughs of brightness in spring.
May you feel sure of you.
All that you are.
All that you grow from.
All that you bring.
You, just as you are, are the most glorious offering.
A precious blessing.
With love,
Iona x
oh how I needed to read, and to hear this my love! as always, giant thank you's for your offerings in here x
🌿🌷🌞🌷🌿