Month: February 2026

the new moon
held no lantern for me

i earned my light the old way
on hands and knees
in appalachian mud

breathing ice into lungs
that forgot
they were made for this

the fire horse does not ask permission
to transform

she runs through the frozen thing
until it breaks open
until what was buried
under all that gray weight
surfaces
steaming
wild
and alive

six nights
i gave myself to the cold
and the cold gave me back
something it could not keep
something too stubborn to freeze

i fed my depression to the mountain
and the mountain consumed it
without mercy

traded my gray hollow aching
for frostbitten fingers
that can now
hold the whole world

six nights
under a moonless appalachian sky
wind that wanted to break me
mud that wanted to swallow me

and i rose anyway

i rose
every single morning
i rose

the horse that survives the mountain
does not trot

she runs
like she finally remembers
she was fire all along

and nothing
not the cold
not the dark
not the weight of it all

can ever take that from her now

—lyra moon (did you think the cold could keep it?)
february 17, 2026

the garden taught you about soil
now learn about air

all that observation
tracking light and shadow
made you fluent in roots
but roots are only half

above ground everything is exchange
the bee takes gives takes gives
the tree exhales what you breathe
rot releases spores that cross continents

nothing stays contained

you thought the work was in your hands
the choosing the clearing
but the garden was teaching surrender

wind decides where seeds land
rain comes when it comes
winter takes everything bare

you cannot control weather
cannot negotiate with seasons
only move with them

the butterfly at your native plant
has no concept of borders
will die a thousand miles from here
but what it carried will bloom there

results of your care echoing
in places you’ll never see

what if the point was never the garden
what if it was learning you are also weather
also seasons
also making things you won’t witness

your hands in soil taught you to trust dark
that germination happens underground
that best work stays invisible for months
that faith is planting in october
for may

now take that knowing past the walls
into what resists tending

relationships growing wild despite your care
losses that composted you
versions of yourself buried like bulbs
things you cannot fix or choose

you are both garden and tender
both seed and scattering

plant yourself badly if you must
trust that something reaches for light
even when you forget which way is up

the soil does its work
with or without your understanding

⁠—lyra moon (what if you are also the weather?)⁠
february 10, 2026

let me tell you the wonder
of the untended garden

at first it may seem neglected
abused even

but sit within its walls
sift your fingers through the soil
notice the quality

seeds hide in the depths
waiting in dormancy
for the right chance to bloom

there is vibrancy in the wildness
there is strength in the tenacity

you clear a seat
you remove a weed
one at a time

the work is not done in a day
but the more you explore
the more wonder you find

a plant you’ve never identified
a native that is medicinal
a dandelion in the cracks
showing its resiliency

its deep taproot bringing up nutrients
to share pollen with a bee

its leaves will decompose
enriching the soil
for the plants yet to come

the more you tend
the more you discover
the more you realize
the endless potential

there is a history here
a broken shovel
a decorative pot

you get to choose what to keep
and what to discard

your greatest tool is not your effort
it is observation

where does the light shine
what enriches the ecosystem around it
what is vulnerable and needs protection
what is valuable but needs pruning

your garden has been working this whole time
its beauty waiting to be revealed

the soil is rich
the diversity part resilient
and part dormant

this is your sanctuary

you decide what to celebrate
and what to compost

it all serves a purpose
even if we don’t know
what it is yet

weeds are not inherently bad
they tell us something
about the quality of the soil
and the environment around us

we choose how to best use them

you are a beautiful tender
and i cannot wait
to see what wonders you grow

—lyra moon (compost / celebrate / observe)
february 9, 2026

by the weight of frost made gentle in my grasp
by the alchemy of fire that warms the frozen
i invoke the power to be my own protector

i stand as witness to my fears
not with doubt but with steady gaze
knowing what is named can be transformed

i call upon the breath
lungs as bellows for courage
drawing in strength expelling weakness
until uncertainty’s ragged edges close
like resolve remembering its purpose

i am keeper of the inner flame
tender of fire that outlasts wind and snow
let my preparation be kindling my presence fuel
even one spark proves warmth is always possible

i honor the mountain unbowed
roots through stone touching all that holds the world
i am not alone i have never been alone

grant me courage to witness my own strength
to see the ways i have weathered hard things
to hold true mirrors of myself
catch fear name it and walk forward anyway

preparation begins inward
gathering courage then outward to the community waiting in the snow
i contain multitudes
everyone who has feared everyone who went anyway
i claim caution as wisdom gear as proof that planning matters
hard won ground between comfort and adventure as sacred

may i emerge not unmarked but alive
a keeper of warmth a maker of shelter
a traveler who holds herself through cold
with the same fierce tenderness offered to companions
tending self and others alike

by root and breath and readiness
by multitudes within and those yet to come
so mote it be

another deep breath exhale
now go
the mountain waits
your people wait
you are ready

—lyra moon (warmth as a sacred act)
february 8, 2026

the neutron star pulls everything in
even light bends under its weight

and we are learning not to freeze
in the presence of such gravity

acknowledge the cold
name it
let it be real in your hands

like snow that will not melt
no matter how long you hold it

but do not build your house there

the negative thought arrives
a messenger with mud on its boots
tracking darkness through your door

you do not turn it away
you ask it why it came
what news it carries
from the far country of fear

then you alchemize

not pretending the lead is already gold
but placing your hands in the fire anyway

transforming what wants to freeze you
into the heat that moves you forward

for every terrible thing
the sutra whispers
there is also

not as erasure
not as distraction
but as the other side of the same coin
spinning in the air
between despair and action

the oppressed have always known this
how to find light in the fuckery
how to share bread
when there is barely enough
how to sing in the dark

because the dark is real
and so is the song

you throw yourself a lifeline
not to ignore the drowning
but to remember you have hands

and hands can pull
and pulling is not the same as pretending
the water is not deep

this is perspective
the holistic view
that sees both the wound and the bandage
the winter
and the spring beneath it

waiting its turn

—lyra moon (placing my hands in the fire anyway)
february 3, 2026

i woke up again and thought
this is still my life

the bottles on the nightstand the ones with my name
printed small and official
they’re the only thing that remembers me anymore

i used to think when someone said i love you
it meant something like stay
but now i think it just means
i’m scared to be alone right now

god i’m sorry but i don’t believe in you

my hands used to make things
now they just lie here
i don’t even want to anymore
that’s how i know something is really wrong

every day i’m learning how easy it is
to take up less space
just stop calling people back
stop washing your hair
stop acting like any of this matters

the truth is the trees would be fine without me
better even
one less person using up the air

i think i’m becoming see through
like those jellyfish we saw that summer
the ones that were barely there

and i’m not fighting it
i’m just letting myself drift
toward whatever comes after wanting
after trying
after the long exhausting work
of being a person

the pills know
the silence knows
my body has always known
where this was going

—lyra moon (barely there / drifting out)
february 2, 2026