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My Second Half…

At the young age of fifty-five, I find myself joyously standing in the center of that which has been and that which is preparing to blossom. An eloquent juxtaposition that feels like a merry-go-round spinning with exquisite suspended scenes.

In addition to my age gracing me with the realization that a lot of life has been lived, my children now soar off into their own adventures, pushing me out of the nest. As the truth becomes absorbed cellularly I find a gleefulness that encapsulates the carefree wild child I was and the passionate wise woman I am. Uniting and marrying the two for prophetic adventuring. A smile spreads, curiosity ignites, rhapsodic imagination takes flight.

In My Second Half…

I know I am worthy and divinely perfect as I am…

I unabashedly live, love, and explore…

I witness the beauty in the mirror, celebrating the gifts of time…

I gleefully embrace my enough-ness, freeing myself of unsolicited opinions…

I canter at full speed into the arena of my passionate dreams…

I leap with complete faith, burying with fervor the crib of regret…

I acknowledge with great gaiety that I am a success and always have been…

I sever the twine issued by judges, critics and fearful fanatics…

I am free to BE me, gyrating with grace into the infinite expansion of self…

I pledge to live engorged at the table of life…

In my second half, I welcome the rhapsody Carpe Diem…

Fawn Caveney

Yes, everyday is a fresh stretched canvas. A posed pirouette. A barren page. A ballad awaiting melody. Oh what delighted mirth awaits in My Second Half…

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Writing is my home…

As I joyously inhale the rich scents of Spring, I smile at the magic of the pond surface, it invites me to become mesmerized by its soft masquerade. Pretending to be the cerulean blue sky, budding trees and patchwork clouds, until a duck exposes its truth.

What we see may not be that which we believe…

I sit in contemplation, why do I write? I explore this topic with sincerity, for I am clear, I do not wish to be an inbox pest, or an in your face “look at me” bombardment in this technological age. Writing has been my calm in life’s storms. Words whisper on the wind, thunder in my dreams, offer safe harbor for my truths and ignite my desires. Writing is my home.

It occurred to me yesterday that there is a poignant difference between words that are meant to be READ and words that are written for one to FEEL. I put my words to page for the latter, hoping they may touch a part of you that knows and remembers. Like a firefly in a dark room, my writing arrives to kindle your heart, mirror your magnificence, and celebrate your existence. My words wish to be your friend, whether they resonate or not, it does not matter, they arrive free of expectation or judgment.

Words beckon me, they arrive in dreams, promenade on the wind, sparkle in sun rays and wink with the moon. As far back as my small human brain can go, they have called, beseeching me to hear, to feel, to know their exquisite texture, tone and truth.

A composer hears music, an artists woos colors, a singer ignites sound, a dancer feels cadence, a writer breathes words. I write because I must, whether or not anyone reads my sentences matters not to my persistent muse… As a willow will bend in the wind, the colloquy shall flow from within, arriving on any inviting surface.

“I do not write to convince you, I write to invite you…

I do not write to ignite your approval, I write to remind you of your magnificence…

I do not write to tell you what to do, I write to celebrate you

I do not write to tell you something is wrong, I write to empower you to choose yourself…

I do not write to give you 7 Steps to a better life, I write to inform you that you are already enough…

I do not write to critique your life, I write to reflect back your perfection…

I do not write to magnify your discontent, I write so you may embrace your worthiness…

I do not write for you to read the words, I write in hopes that you may feel the words…

I do not write to get your attention, I write because I must, it is who I am…”