ABOUT ME
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.
Recent Posts
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Eighteen Going on Eighty
I turned eighteen several days ago. Considering I have been mentally eighty for several years, physically turning eighteen feels… almost natural. Eighteen is a strange number. Legally, it carries the weight of adult jail, child adoption, marriage, voting, and endless terms & conditions. But eighteen is also an expecting number, waiting for me to act…
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Quiet Redemption: An Advent Meditation
There is a silence that falls on these Christmastide mornings, when the soft morning light filters through the windows and the wind dances through the trees. A silence that beckons to me, stills me. Not only a digital silence but a soul silence as well. My soul sits, watching, waiting, listening. In Watch For the Light, Loretta…
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A Digital Disconnect
Dear Friends, Please forgive my extended absence. I am plowing through a busy season of college applications that have stolen my time and motivation to blog. I appreciate your grace, dear reader, in opening this letter, even when the writer is weary and fickle. This week, I felt the beckoning of inspiration to write and I followed. …
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On Playfulness
We seem to have forgotten how to be children. How to approach life with a sense of play. I do not mean recklessness but wonder. To look, actually look, at the world around us. And, as my toddler cousin has shown me, find gaps in the manholes and faces in the puddles. I was reminded of…
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How I Am Secretly An Elderly Woman
Recently, I learned a new piece of vocabulary: “octogenarian.” According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, it refers to “a person whose age is in the eighties.” The word encapsulates how I often feel internally. Although, physically, I am a young lady, I have always been an old soul at heart. Some may find this idea odd…
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Transfixed
On a crisp summer evening a few days ago, I attended the Schuman Symphony No. 4 concert in Grant Park, Chicago. The cool wind brushed my face as I sat down on a rickety red chair in the free seats section. The stainless steel exterior of the Jay Pritzker Pavilion glimmered before me, intricate in…
Glimpse beauty
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