This Weary Soul

I’m in the process of leaving the home I once knew. My feet carry me down the same sidewalks, though this time they are compelled to not rush the pace in anticipation of carrying on with the tasks of the day. Perhaps I’m beginning to recognize the feeling of existing in the moment, setting aside my worries for the softness of the skies and the sweet slowness of mid-afternoon hours. Yellow butterflies find their way to me as they tend to at this time of year, and I can’t help but believe there is meaning in their appearance. This weary soul of mine begins the process of greeting her world wide awake, knowing the journey must be made up of not bountiful leaps, but rather in subdued steps that lend themselves to the quietness of discovery…

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