Where the Ancestors Teach the Wind

We do not speak of grief loudly.
We carry it the way the earth carries seed—
hidden, patient, sacred.

Some endings are not endings.
only a door of light
where names become breath again.

In our way,
the ones who leave do not disappear—
they move into the unseen circle,
watching through silence,
guiding through warmth.

Hope is not a shout.
It is a small thing that rises
even after the longest season.

And when the heart feels heavy,
We remember:
The spirit was never meant to walk alone.
It was meant to return
to the great belonging.

🎨Artist and storyteller: Dorothy Vera