Mirrored from Suns In Her Branches | Kiya Nicoll.
At the moment when the light returns, flaring bright and blinding, the breath comes back, too, all in a rush. It is not that the breathing stopped through the peculiar gloom of it, but somehow it was not enough, there was not enough air, something subliminal and only noticeable in the moment that it disappears.
The light comes back. Perhaps there is a deep and instinctual part of the spirit that holds its breath, not sure whether that would be the case.
But the light comes back. The light comes back and everything seems different, now.
Slowly, slowly the sense of normality reasserts itself. The quality of the light goes… natural… so quickly, by comparison, returning to some sense of the expected, the everyday.
But there is still the knowing. Knowing that one has gone down into the dark, through the dread of it, down into the dark and seen the wonders there, and has come back.
With the light.
I went to a protest thing.
I blabbed about it at twitter, and I managed to get it to thread more or less correctly I think, so I will just link the top of that. At some point I will figure out how to get there to be twitter autopost things here, I hear it's possible but I do not know hoooowwwwwwwwww.
Anyway, the link is https://twitter.com/kiya_nicoll/status/