raising goosebumps | part 3. in the salty season
The cold air tickles my bare skin, raising goosebumps. I take a cold sip, drinking the space between me and them.
A morning dove sings perched up on the wire, signaling .
Hip-hip! It’s spring again, but the wave of pain, rolls within, like a sharp breeze skirting over the water.
Another year gone, ever the same, but underneath, fitfully unforeseen.
They are ever more layered, partly sprung.
Seeing beauty: it’s my well.
What are they living?
In these uncertain moments, an ache answers acknowledging fragility.
As they grow further from the nurseries, they nestle deeper into my heart through these salty seasons of motherhood.
