Season

mundy

It is with great comfort to know a season has filled it’s purpose

To have the gentle awareness, knowing

Confidence in nature and self that the storms and sunshine served what they should, as they should

The dark and light that came with equal abundance were simply creating the necessary environment for that seasons growth

To sit in quiet, with a calm trust that this season has fully bloomed

Embraced with the honor a season deserves

Presence. Attention. Care.

What a curious and magnificent gift it is bid farewell to a season

A sadness, for the heart knows this season came with such story, legacy and imprint on the soul

Yet, with gratitude and knowing she and you have served your purpose with a mutually respected and compassionate flow

What a gift it is to love and live a season and the deep wells it leaves in your soul

~Alisa Hutton

Walk

Walk

I asked to hold your hand and go for a walk

The only gifts I can offer

Time and a genuine heart

A hope I had

To share some space and feel your thoughts

Good intentions, a warm drink and a few cautious steps together in our dark

Hesitancy and indecision seemed to be the only things filling the cup

Showing up, a choice made by two

Not showing up, the choice made for me and you

Standing alone there becomes but only one option

My time and genuine heart keeping warm in my soul

I take the same cautious steps, as me, as one

Gently walking with an offered extension

Simplicity, wanting to know you over time

Taking a short walk together, holding hands in a park

A moment becomes lost

Option and choice merge as one meeting at now or never

The invitation

Quietly kept in my forever

~Alisa Hutton

Gentle Quiet

grass

Roll open the scroll of your life on the grass

Wide and long with gentle hand and thought

Precious parchment is sure to fray when harshness pours

Edges brown and beg to be absorbed back in to earth they once grew

The scroll may grow in length, assurance not your right

Sit with it in quiet, allow the rain to wash away that which is not meant for permanence

Ask for it, chant and pray if you must

Left on the wet uncomfortable quiet of the grass will be your timeless ink and legacy

When you shiver, honor stillness

When you hear only scream, honor quiet

When little is remaining, trust

Trust the story being left, the story being written

For that which is deeply rooted will not be washed away by the rain

Trust in gentle quiet

That which remains after the storm

Is

You

~Alisa Hutton