Learning to Cradle by Glenda Myles

When grief settles like winter frost across the chambers of my heart, I no longer fight its presence, no longer wish to tear it apart.

Instead, I cup my palms together as if holding morning dew— this ache, this weight, this weathered feeling deserves its gentleness too.

Like holding water in sand, I learn to be both vessel and shore, allowing pain its sacred space while leaving room for something more.

There are others, countless others, whose hearts bear similar weight. Together we form constellations of healing as we wait.

And in this tender holding, this careful, patient art, I discover that compassion flows both towards and from the heart.

The hurt may stay its season, may linger like fallen leaves, but now it rests in kinder hands— in the shelter that mercy weaves.

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