Photo by Jason Blackeye on Unsplash

Saturday, February 27, 2021

Winter’s roots have sprung.

Winter’s storm begone.

Under new suns we’ll run,

And dance for each driver—it’s fun.

To songs of our past, how come?

To thank each artist who’ve done,

The unthinkable creations for us.

Now be with our rock from dusk,

To dawn it’s a Snow Moon of trust.

And beauty of light by night,

Bringing day roots of each chilling fight.

Our coldest of this life ignites,

The futures we’ve always seen bright.


Born and raised in Portland, Oregon, Budd writes to encourage readers to explore the depths of their inner ocean, an unexplored self, because it's fun once you get through the emotional part... "The words we speak become our vehicle; what you read is how I digest them.” -Budd

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