"...I trusted in the Almighty… I knew I could only be killed once,
and I had to die sometime."
-Anne Bailey, 1823

Tuesday, January 25


Snow lies upon frozen ground while dense fog gathers all into its ethereal grasp
and all seems lost within the gloom.

Yet, just beneath the surface, nestled within the fragrant soil, a tiny seed stretches forth,
hair like tendrils grasp and take hold

Above, grey clouds disperse and the suns warming rays burn through the fog and melt the dingy remnants of snow

Cool water seeps and sifts through the soil and drenches the tiny seed in nutrients
the hard outer shell breaks free of the seed and new life springs forth