The Path Reveals Itself in Whispers

August 19-20, 2025

August 19-20, 2025

The path reveals itself in whispers.

A girl named Tennyson rides into my day, carrying the lineage of poetry in her name.
In the night, breath disappears into stillness, again and again, as if the body remembers eternity.

At the trailhead, a man, not a holy one, served his pastoral duties in a blessing upon me and mine.

The land spoke in fragments:
🐍 the bones and skin of a snake, teaching of endings woven into beginnings
📻 a speaker left behind, still carrying sound, carrying the urge to write on the wave
🌳 hawthorne trees, guardians of heart and thorn, offering berries I see for the first time in a known place
🪶 feathers against my chest—one chosen, one uncertain—both opening my heart and body

Even the bite of fly and mosquito becomes initiation: sting as reminder that as you give, you receive, flesh in conversation with the world.

This is pilgrimage.
Not across mountains or seas—
but here, step by step,
in the ordinary made sacred.