The September winds brought rain, watering the land, washing the roofs and my soul too, and, along with the birdsong and the shoots in the grass, my dear child returned. My heart was filled with joy, for it was me, returning home.
My inner child arrived waking me up in flashes, asking to look, to look at the stars that had fun in the dawn constellation and told me about the “golden hour”, the spark of the first look between the mother and her baby.
Then, in my heart, an understanding was tacking — transitory, as they all truly are — that, a few months later, I decided to write.
Here it is, in three parts:
February 01, 2020.