Still small scream

My grandson’s ear-piercing squeals attest to his cheerful will to be heard, seen, felt – the immediacy of his glorious presence. And there is his bright gaze as he, too, unwaveringly acknowledges me.

I remember the child whose song rose mightily to the setting sun – a prayer, a longing for the beauty of light and color to follow her into the darkness of fear and the anguish of wounded hearts seeking their own voice.

Now, I tell myself: I am guiltless, I am free, safe, and still I struggle to loose that still small scream, ever seeking to be heard. Here I am to say yes – every day another chance.

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