When the road narrows

and the trees bend,

when the winds howl

and the sky darkens;

there are the footprints

of rogue travelers

who forged a way.

There are roots,

held firm by generations

of seekers, and healers,

mothers and grandmothers

who gave their last breath

laying the groundwork

for the next mothers

and her babies to come.

There are tendons,

and hearts,

and voices,

stretched pliable

through countless storms such as this –

strong, resilient, fluid,

able to withstand far more

than any single moment of time

could ever muster.

And there are stars.

Sometimes near, but often far.

Shielded from the very elements

intent on pressing and testing us –

and so not depleted, but filled.

Overflowing.

With the light that is needed

to find our way in this dark.

Just as always

we give

and we receive.

When we were blessed,

so we blessed others.

When we loved,

we loved wide.

And now in our time of need,

from worlds away,

there is a candle.

A poem.

A garden.

A song.

A reminder.

That this world –

made up of howling winds

and dark nights,

of narrow roads, and weakened defenses –

also contains rose gardens and bee hives,

love songs,

and communities of hope and peace,

built on the backs of those who did not give up.

They did not let that ember of hope

turn to ash.

And on it all turns,

like the seasons,

like the constellations,

like our hearts when we remember.

We are not alone,

and love always

always

always

finds a way.

©️2025 Cristen Writes