Life can be a ragged stitch, a sometimes-hem.
Wending and wheedling shoots lifting themselves up and out of dark places: this is life.
Rusty vessels still waiting to hold and be lifted.
An almost-thought slipping from fingers, dropped mind-less in piles of forgotten things.
Slightly knowing myself this year...yet...
I have been me: the rushing wringing hands that grasp and let go just as easy as toast, or other dry things.
Still, I am beautiful.
Let me reintroduce myself:
I am Katie. I live in the dust, dangling willow, and long grasses. There are honeyed-sun rays in the mornings over our rocks, and glowing pink clouds in the evenings lifting the last of the day over the mountains. There is mud, also.
Hello, I'm still beautiful.