The Lavender Field

ByAnonymous

The lavender field is pumice to my calloused soul, where I shed my sins and abandon control. I am brushed pure to a fragile sapling, vulnerable, green and susceptible to collapsing.

The lavender field is where my mind hears my heartbeat slowly, where I relish and soak in silent stillness wholly. I am transformed until my blood is a medley of branches, open to a world of new capacities and chances.

The lavender field is where our dialect is the state of the sky, where all that pierces our essence can liquify, whither and simply die. I am stripped like tree bark of insular proclivities, listening to the cadence sewn into vast, infinite possibilities.

By Emily Neto