Returning, quietly
(Late afternoon. The River rippled its own rhythm. No breeze. A cloudless sky, sun suspended for brief seconds. Blue water. Golden reeds.)
Dear Friends,
A soft note to say I’ve been working quietly—
with images, with fragments, with a book that is asking for more time than I expected.
Some of what I’m making now doesn’t move quickly.
It asks to be lived with, not sent out.
I’ll still be here, though less often—
and perhaps differently.
Thank you, as always, for reading and for staying.
—Lee Anne
(A pending storm moves in beauty. Black tree limbs hum something ancient— standing taller under the weight of sky.)
