Whispers of an Old Soul

A maple leaf nestled by knobby knees, squished blackberries floating in vibrant violet juice waited while rain cast ripples on its surface. Mud-caked purple fingers wrapped around a crooked stick hurriedly worked to remove chunks of bark revealing the flesh beneath. The sticky concoction seeped between chubby fingers as she began her work. The stain soaking into the porous fibers, as it did she felt a spark, a memory longing to come into focus? She had done this before, the earth beneath her, the scent of ripe berries filling her nose, raindrops kissing her hair. This moment, she knew she had lived it before. “Home” she sighed as she embraced the familiar pull as it whispered to her soul. More frequent were times like these, memories and emotions that claimed her, whisking her away and back again before she could even blink.

From the time I was a little girl I knew I was different. Saw things differently, felt things more intensely, recalled places, people, moments that I could not explain. I never understood why until later in life. I am blessed with an old soul, one that calls to me to go home. Back to the start to remember who I really am. This is my journey, the path I have chosen to find my way through the murky, muddy waters; back to my roots. With each step I draw closer and my soul sings.


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