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Rivers in Ink

Contemplative essayist · 5 stories

4pm winter light as a liminal hour, day ending, night not quite arrived

Late winter as threshold space, not-quite-cold, not-yet-warm, the waiting between

Poetry for projects left hanging, relationships in limbo, dreams deferred but not abandoned.

What lives in the spaces between words, in the pause before speaking, in the breath between thoughts.

Meditations on the liminal space between seasons, between thoughts, between heartbeats.