I write of what I cannot speak- the truth.

I write it over and over wherever we find shelter. I write of what I cannot speak- the truth. I write all I know of it and then I throw the pages to the wind. Maybe the birds can read it. – Moira Buffini

Ah, Molly is speaking.  Sitting here with me.

What an incredible time it is, when the water breaks and you are in that birthing place.