A Little Place Called the River

foraging pieces of myself

By R.C. TaylorPublished 2 years ago • 1 min read

wu wei whispers to me to be like

a little place called the river

a sacred place calling me home

where my troubles flow downstream and

dreams grow bankside like fleabane

a styptic to all the bleeding wounds

of daytime and I can forage all the

lost pieces of me and put myself

together again for the first time

in this life but not the first time

by this little place called the river

I write to invoke, to process, to honor, to resurrect, and—sometimes—to grieve but, above all, I write to be free.

Follow along for stories about a little bit of everything (i.e. nostalgia and other affairs of the heart).

Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also become a paid subscriber, letting them know you appreciate their work.