Hey, kindred souls! I’m Abigail. I am an old soul with a fondness for hefty tomes and cinnamon tea. I write on topics such as the value of art, the struggles of being human, and the ways to sight beauty in a torn world.
May you find words of light and space to ponder in this haven of hope.
Dear Friends,Disappointment pervades our world. The whispers of disillusionment and defeat manifest in the faces I pass, the conflicts that fissure the world and my world, the laments of artists such as The 1975, the silent tears of weary souls. I feel the ache of being human. I have known exhaustion, anxiety, fear, remorse, loneliness,…
Dear kindred spirits, I cannot believe November is passing. Time is so strange, so swift, these days. Writing and blogging, in these past few months, has proved a more difficult pursuit than I’d imagined. My headspace is cluttered with the immediate and fatigued by the strains of studies and people. I want to write and…
Dear friends,I’ve been faced with how simple yet compelling the act of showing kindness can be. After reading “The Unexpected Power of Random Acts of Kindness,” I felt a deep desire to touch others through small acts of kindness. I am an empathetic person and possess a keen consciousness of the mental and emotional states…
Dear friends, It has been a little while since I’ve written a blog post. Since school started, life seems to course along at a rapid pace, muddling time in its path. In the face of this (still new) change, I’ve found it difficult to translate my disjointed thoughts into words, repelling me from the keyboard. And,…
Hello friends, I hope you have been well. Please forgive my relative silence — I’ve been adjusting to a new school system so I haven’t had the time or inspiration to write of late. However, I did want to share with you some exciting news. I received an award in the Youth category of the…
As I gazed out my car window one summer evening this week, I was confronted with how full the world is of activity, of movement. I passed little houses and claustrophobic apartments, sheltering the heads of people unknown. I glimpsed men and women walking, sweeping, talking, reading, engaging in quiet routines. Windows radiated with warm…