sagewraith
sage wraith
π±π¦π³ π’π΄π±π¦π³π’ π’π₯ π’π΄π΅π³π’ βΒ π΅π©π³π°πΆπ¨π© π΅π©π¦ π΅π©π°π³π―π΄, π΅π° π΅π©π¦ π΄π΅π’π³π΄.
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The wind is us - it gathers and remembers all our voices, then sends them talking and telling through the leaves and the fields.
β Truman Capote
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It was strange, learning the contours of anotherβs loneliness. You could never know it all at once; like stepping inside a dark cave, you felt along the walls, bumped into jagged edges.
Brit Bennett, The Mothers
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Home, that place your soul longs for with an exhausting intensity, just as a bird might hurt for the sky, or as a flower might pine for the sun.
The Silence of Bones, June Hur
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Seema V. Atalla, from "Gift", We Begin Here: Poems for Lebanon and Palestine
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Years later, looking out into another sea, she wondered if something of destiny had been transferred in a rose petal falling from a strangerβs hands into hers.
The Dragonfly Sea, Yvonne Adhiambo Owuor
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Stories are malleable within a personβs feelings: they can be squeezed to acquire the shape of truth. And so Ayaana and Muhidin wandered the island with the intoxicated pair, almost convinced of their own happiness, too.
The Dragonfly Sea, Yvonne Adhiambo Owuor
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The Dragonfly Sea, Yvonne Adhiambo Owuor
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Below them, a tide swirled. A cool breeze provided a bass note for soughing night creaturesβan invisible reptile interspersed the melodies with a monotone croak. Night jasmine infused the air, and the sky above tossed lights across eternity, splashing white, blue, yellow, and red sparks in the sky, which was reflected in the black mirror of the water.
The Dragonfly Sea, Yvonne Adhiambo Owuor
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Memories crawled over Muhidin like arachnids sneaking out of forgotten crypts.
The Dragonfly Sea, Yvonne Adhiambo Owuor
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Long, long ago, when Muhidin was no more than a boy, a fierce song had burned into his being. It had clung to him like an earth-stranded ghost. It would later re-emerge as dreams that woke him up with a craving for unnamable things.
The Dragonfly Sea, Yvonne Adhiambo Owuor
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"here lie those who loved life and could not find a way to live it" x
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His hands touched the soil. He swallowed air. Here were the rustlings of ghosts. Here was the lonely humming of those who had died far from home and had for too long been neither sought nor remembered.
The Dragonfly Sea, Yvonne Adhiambo Owuor
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she peered through mangrove leaves, the better to study the passengersβ drizzle-blurred facesβa child looking for and gathering words, images, sounds, moods, colors, conversations, and shapes, which she could store in one of the shelves of her soul, to retrieve later and reflect upon.
The Dragonfly Sea, Yvonne Adhiambo Owuor
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A leaden sky poured dull-red light over a crowd of petulant ghosts, dormant feuds, forfeited glories, invisible roads, and congealing millennia-old conspiracies. Weaker light leached into ancient crevices, tombs, and ruins, and signaled to a people who were willing to cohabit with tragedy, trusting that time transformed even cataclysms into echoes.
The Dragonfly Sea, Yvonne Adhiambo Owuor
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But there was sadness, too, in the spaces between, woven through the ellipses, the desolation of a question unanswered.
The Echo of Old Books, Barbara Davis
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