To the lost family members

I am always astonished at how we can connect to people, as people, to such deep levels. The depths of which no one will understand. High Valley is some secret place between the veils of this world, where you get away and you let go a bit share just in order to partake and receive what comes willingly and more importantly naturally.



T. Dillinger- Oh your weary soles how they do ache. The spurs of your heels, the curve of your toes, the arch of your feet that already know the tough road they walk barefoot. You walk the hard road no one wants to acknowledge, you walked this path many lifetimes before. Of course your feet are tired. Must Angels always fly, when they have to good feet? There mission doesn't change, their gifts do not change they are sent here to do what they do in the only way they know how to do it. Letting God work through them, they are of God why not do the work God sent them to do. Like most jobs they don't have to like it, and they may not even have to get it. They still have to do it. You will walk until your feet are worn until your socks come away at the seams. You will walk until the jagged rocks on that road you walk shed some of your blood, but where those drops stained life, inspiration, encouragement will grow. WHO said your job is for you? Who said your job bright some sense of self satisfaction? It is never that easy. You teach, and you share, and you minister, and you heal, you comfort and you entertain.. and at the end of the day you realized your feet still hurt. No rest comes now, because you walking in your right path. Soon your bare feet will touch the soft grass of the place that calls to you. The land will once again reconnect with you and the vines and leafy foliage will wrap around you in that moment and secure you in place and you will become a still monument. No need to walk or move, your work is done, your journey ended, your feet found home. Rest is your accomplishment, your restitution for the many lives you have touched and the walking you have done in paths others may now dare to walk.

E. Cunnigham/D. Smyth- You tell the stories of countless women who had no voice. The daughter, the mother, the grandmother, the bride.... the whore. You tell the stories of greatness one can achieve through adversity, but most of all Love. You allowed yourself and your husband to feel that which is closest to you to grow in an environment and lush and as green as the woods you live in. You have produced family and community in a world where people seek to find such things. Like minded people are hard to find, open minded people are even harder. They exist though by a creek in an old house where stories are told, 3 large felines stand guard, toast & omelette's are made, coffee and wine bring fellowship like no other. Wisdom comes forth in many conversation's and you realize your work is never done as well, your both still touching people in ways that no price tag, expensive gift or winning lotto ticket could ever attempt. You two become the eternal friend, the eternal parents, the eternal flames. Always bright, always shining, always providing a glimmer of peace and hope in the darkest of moods and times.

Destiny- Where do I start?! Eyes painted and pretty before make up touches them. Eyes that appear to have seen too much, know things most her age do not, she might have observed
and saw past the mundane, the ordinary, and the plain. Words are your closest friends, little fey folk that fly to your person only to have you shape them into magical stories and illusion's. Painting pictured with a voice seasoned with even cool refreshing tones that burst like fire crackers when you belt into your chest. You are a dazzling mirage of dancing gypsies, butterfly flutters, raven and dove wings, Native American spirituality in its flesh healing, ancient and wise a feather and flower in your hair signifying a perfect marriage between earth and air. A smile that aches for one who has had to smile for so long when their eyes were teetering with tears like a levy in a storm. Your mother and father, your grandparents and sibling all rods that were thrown into the fire and beaten, meted, tempered into fine pieces of art. Talents the blood wields, heritage the voices echo, before and past your time all at once.... Nostalgia and expectation of things to come. Your ministry is in your Story telling not too different than one who once multiplied bread and fish for many hungry souls. The world is ready and hungry for what you may multiply and make many. Share your gifts, forever be encouraged.