brookecutler2

  • Remembrance

    There she was. She had always been there beneath the rubble of crumbling life. How sweetly the sun did shine upon her remembrance. Continue reading

  • Heart

    How my heart breaks when I think of it. The moment I was curled up on the hospital bed, weeping in my husbands arms, just absolutely sobbing with fear as the two doctors stood by, helpless to my tears. Only… Continue reading

  • In The Gentle Woods

    It is the depths that call me here. It is the silence and the bells of yesterdays wish. Let there be now. Let there be this walk alone in the gentle woods. Continue reading

  • Pure Bliss

    It is a softness that becomes me, and I am gone. Lately I am understanding more and more about this mysterious creative force that takes me, and yet, truly, I understand nothing. I know it uses me in ways I… Continue reading

  • Soft Arms

    I hold this fear in soft arms and let her be. She is a dear traveller. She knows this village well. Peace, dear friend. We shall sit and we shall be, without wishing to change one another. Continue reading

  • Sacred Sorrow

    I was on my knees, in the garden. If she was a person, we would have been forehead to forehead, and I would be whispering my sorry into her skin. But she was not a person. She was a plant.… Continue reading

  • Happy New Year

    It’s just gone 12:30, a new year has rolled in. Of all the people I have to wish a dear and beautiful new year to…it is you, bloggy friends. My soul folk. I ache to express what words cannot. I… Continue reading

  • Wishes

    I’m on holidays in the middle of nowhere. I have books. I have my computer. I have a heart that wishes for silence and the soft smiles of love. I will sip some tea and close my eyes. Continue reading

  • Scars

    The scars of life run so very deep. It’s hard to remember them, hard to sit with that pain. The moments of quiet are beautiful, though, and moments of love revisited are to be cherished. How beautiful true love feels… Continue reading

  • Freud

    I’m about to sit down and snuggle with one of my Christmas presents. It is a book by Sigmund Freud called ‘The Interpretation of Dreams.’ I’d imagine it will hand me another key to my perception of reality, which I’m… Continue reading