By Tammy T. Stone

It’s a brave thing

I’ve come to think

To be lonely when connections

Have been severed

To be without defenses

Which have caged us so long

Finding our steps into any of

Various paths marked in ways

Which defy our understanding.

In loneliness, we see

The strange for the strange

The fear for the fear

And then everything,

From the species of ladybug

Surprising us anew,

To the tree with its sinewy roots,

The person hobbling on the street

With the aid of a cane

Is no longer how we see it,

But what they are

(Because we are

What we are

Nothing more

Nothing less)

Here / now / luminous

Waiting, or maybe not waiting

(To be is to be open

It is in the darkness that we wait)

For our approach

And our fragile hope.


Photo: sirenscallmehome

Editor: Dana Gornall



Tammy T. Stone

Tammy T. Stone is a Canadian writer, photographer and chronicler of life as it passes through us. A wanderer at heart, she’s mesmerized by people, places and all of our wildest dreams; the world is somehow so vast and so small. She feels incredibly lucky to have been able to work, learn and live abroad, writing, photographing and wellness-practicing along the way. She invites you to see her photography here and to connect with her on her writer’s page, Twitter and her blog, There’s No War in World. Her first book, Formation: Along the Ganges and Back Again, published by Prolific Press, is available here.

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