The Season of Returning Lara I fell into winter,a quiet collapse of light.Bare branches above me,and silence heavy as snow.The frost took my laughter,the wind took my name,and I drifted through the cold,like breath caught between worlds.
But the earth-she never forgot me.She hummed beneath the ice,a low song,ancient and patient:even the seed must sleep before it blooms.And I listened,still and small,to her steady heartbeat below.
The rain returned,soft as mercy,washing sorrow from my hands.The wind tangled in my hairand whispered, home,as the ground beneath mestirred with life-shivering, stretching, reaching for the sun.
Moss clothed my sorrow,petals crowned my scars.I did not burst into life;I unfolded.I became.
Rebirth is not thunder.It’s rhythm,a heartbeat beneath soft soil,a river remembering its song.It’s the body learning warmth again,the soul relearning grace.
Now I move with the earth’s own music.I am green where I was gray,river where I was stone,light where I was pain.I have returned,not as who I was,but as everything I was meant to become.
And when the dawn brushes my skin,I do not hide.I open wide, like the first flower of springsinging softly to the sun:
I am here.I am whole.I am light again.

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1. @itslarawrites on Instagram