Promised Walks Never Taken
And when great souls die, after a period, peace blooms, slowly and always irregularly.
Spaces fill with a kind of soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be better, for they existed.
from the poem, When Great Trees Fall by Maya Angelou and a personal tribute to one of the most loving Souls to have graced my journey, Tammie Landry Hale (1963 - 2018). - lc