Oatleaf

 ... What can I do with these raspberries? Stain my lips, my cheeks, to bloom again in the mirror’s eye, to paint life back onto my frail face? Yes. Yes. Please. They were made in this fall of new beginnings, for me. My eyes were closed, hands trembling, yet I held the fruit’s red promise— a quiet shield against the past. It was made to bring me back, to kiss my own reflection and tell it I’m still here, clean, sober, and ready to fight again. No grand gesture, just color, and the will to keep saying no, as I bathe in crimson, reclaiming the warmth of life. ... Virginia Guarddon, known as Wildwood Writer, was born in the Canary Islands, Spain, but spent most of her life in the United States. Most recently, she lived in Colorado, where she built a life with her husband and family. Writing has been a lifelong passion for Virginia, beginning when she was just six years old. Instead of keeping a diary, she filled her days with poetry, which quickly became her creative outlet. After a s...

 ... Chicago to D.C. We’re taking the long way, following a locomotive in the VIP seats. The diesel engines don’t smoke, or steam or puff, they just go. On the locomotive there are no safety belts on the seats. Accidents happen. When a train derails outside of town, people come to see. I don’t think about whether we’ll make it to D.C. I’m already planning what we’ll do where we’ll go what to see. It’s not faith. The engine goes on and we wait, the trembling cars following the train.