SACRED HOUR

I follow traces of you in every line of the land, every curve, every bend.

In the richness of the darkest green and in the intensity of the golden sun. Over hills and through valleys my story is remembered and land marked in time; mirrored by the weathering of the earth.

What I know to be, that is an old story; what I feel in the depths of the unknown has been traced on hearts long ago. Every life bears the weight of this story. Every soul yearns to find a place within it.

It is a story that runs within the bones of all creation. It is painted in the brightness of day as much as it is longed for in the sacred hour of the dark.

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Hannah DarkinsComment