Bev Flynn's Blog

when summer tries to tumble landwhile fleeing.. from the season-changerholding on unto itselfthough close.. is in the airscrambling while leavinga divinity of landmarkas ocean.. tries to vainly climb the stair

Learning and facing internal challenges after relocating during the Covid_19 pandemic. 3 months in.. This move down south has been joyous, uplifting, isolating, irritating, eye opening, and full of self-indulgence.. and self-restraint. Moving from Pennsylvania, where social distancing was the norm, to the state of Georgia.. where the atmosphere of concern feels far more absent here, has been an large adjustment.The beautiful landscapes, marshes, rivers, and parks are so fulfilling. The people ar...

Timbered wordsinside her namelie in between the surprise of a darkas thin, small thoughtsgo missinglike slivers, inside a dreamShe writes.. to frame her balancewhen all else slips awayas blindfold falls from her eyesthe plank absolves to page#Words2020

Magnolia and moss. River and breeze. Dawns that scorch your shoulders, low country as deep as a memory. My journey through this Covid_19 pandemic - day 146.. has included selling our old house. Buying our new one. And readjusting to life in the gorgeous low country. The maze of details to get here is a film in my head. The lockdown 9 days after listing our home. No one allowed through. The contingent purchase of a different house. The loss of that house. Twice. The purchase of two other homes, i...

Clouds of quarantinethat pause their tears insidetheir speckled edges cut the tide.. like glassa breath of peace..as spirits eye the night unrolling, silentwe ache to reset timingto kiss transcendencyto face our ghosts of how things used to be

I'm open to signs of the afterlifethat testimonial flashobserving the intangiblesuccumbing.. to beliefthe power of focus and vision revealsthat some souls, are never to partI believe in the mark of the shadow when a hawk.. flies over my heart

Focus lost my mind.. outside my bodymy physical voice, disjointedthis myth of my existence.. prearrangedI own this insecuritythis subtle state of beingmy words have flown on to another plane

Can you hear, when you're near to that place of emotion?a sound that rolls down, from peak of the skyall whippy green mosses.. and temposome tangerine ash, and a pulseI can feel you moving tactile in the groveI know, that your presence.. is close

Tonight she strugglesto be unseeableher will - to fadeoutside this worldwhile locked, into this narrowed viewwhile framed.. in background noiseshe'll shake her words like starfallthey'll free her from pain, then dispersewhen too much of one's self.. is an optic curse

My will.. is facing outwardwhile festering interior wordsI'm filtered in this isolationsipping hues of blue persuasioninking poise and might.. upon my pageblackwater magicraging down my banksI wish - my Chance to screamif only.. in a dream