We gather bushels of blue into breath. Song breath. Breathsong.
If you lend your name to the air, it comes back to you far brighter, like an open heart and all the light it offers.
The beauty of it all is enough to recall those darker, riskier times when we traveled through night on just the moon’s siphoned kisses.
Times when hitchhiking ghosts took the shape of our wildest dreams.
Renewal is sweet. So are baptisms in pools of hallelujahs.
Song breath. Breathsong.
Carry one another skyward on each breath of hellos.
RichRant 