Commissioned for a client entering a new life chapter, in quiet grief and rising strength

She stood at the edge of an old story,
barefoot, with the ash of what was
still clinging to her skin.

She had crumbled.
She had surrendered the scaffolding.
And in the void that followed, something ancient stirred.

There are seasons in life when language fades.
The compass no longer spins. The map dissolves.
And still — you find yourself walking.
Drawn by something older than direction.
Returning to the rhythm that first called you here.

And so she did what the old ones knew.
She listened.
To the silence between breaths.
To the wind’s soft curve across her cheek.
To the ache in her heart that whispered,
"You are not who you thought you were. You are holy.
You were always holy — you just forgot."

Now she stands in sacred pause —
between identity and essence,
between shedding and shape,
between the story once spoken and the one now growing.

Picking up an ember, she carries it
and walks with palms open to the unseen.
Each step a quiet devotion.
Each breath a softening into mystery.

The earth meets her gently.
Ancestors gather behind her, shining like dawn.
And the next chapter unfolds —
unforced, untamed, and deeply hers.

She is in passage.
And passage, when honored, becomes
a light that lives,
not at the end of a path, but at its source.