Sunday Wordle #430

As I walk along, I hear the crack of the dry branches under foot. With the soft light of dawn, I see a mist that licks just the tips of each blade of grass along the inner curve of the path. This single miracle brings the feeling of imminent peace on an otherwise rocky walkway. No, I do not mince my words when I talk of my journey, walking with the rhythm of the breeze, till I find my love again.

Christine Bialczak, 2019

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