💌 Opening Reflection

Dear Reader,

There are rains that simply fall—
and rains that remember.

The kind that arrive after a long season of holding it in.
They don’t storm or flash.
They settle in, seep down, and summon green things.

For many of us, Mother’s Day carries a quiet ache—
whether our mother is near or far, lost or longed for, known or unknown.

This issue isn’t about the grand gestures.
It’s about the thaw—
the slow, sacred softening that comes when we remember tenderness.

A smile.
A phrase she always said.
The warmth of bread in the oven.
The first soft rain that made you feel whole again.

May this issue meet you there—
in the calm after the holding,
in the bloom that follows the break.

📖 Featured Verse: First Warm Rain

"You laughed when the first rain fell—
your hair tangled with mist,
your hand finding mine,
both of us pretending
we hadn't waited all winter
for this touch—
raindrops mingling."

—from Leaning Toward Light: Essence of Spring

This short poem isn’t just about the weather.
It’s about what returns when we let go.

It reminds us how a mother’s presence returns like a seasonal truth—
quietly, completely, and in the form of something as simple as rain on your skin.

This Mother’s Day, may you find that moment of emotional thaw—
a place where memory meets presence,
and something long-held melts into warmth again.

💍 A Soft Glimpse into Mother

There are many facets to mother.
And many ways we carry our mothers, even when they’re no longer here.

In baking aroma, memory comes not through tears—but through cinnamon:

"mystical waves carry me
over reality’s threshold
to a time when spice
carried more weight than gold."

Mama Said reminds us that the wisdom of our mothers lives on through rhythm and resolve:

"Hold tight your heart,
and you'll always belong
Just keep on singing—
never stop your song."

In The Power of a Mother’s Smile, we learn:

"Through the kaleidoscope
of life’s ever-changing landscape,
my mother’s smile has been
a constant source of solace..."

To honor mothers—of all kinds, in all places—
is not to glorify perfection.
It’s to acknowledge the touches that softened us,
the first rains that helped us bloom.

✍️ A Gentle Prompt

Write about a moment you softened—
because of a memory,
because of a mother,
because of rain.

Write in her voice.
Write in your own.
Write what wanted to be said but never was.

And if it feels right, reply and share it with me.
Some moments deserve to be seen.

🌸 Quiet Gift

You can still receive the free chapbook Wisdom of the Quiet Muse if you haven’t yet.

"I let silence hold the part of me
still learning to be soft."

—Wisdom of the Quiet Muse

It’s a small collection meant for soft restarts and slow beginnings.

📥 Download here

🌙 Until Next Time

Look for From the Quiet Verse – Issue #9, where we will explore “The Threshold of Enough”:
The space between striving and satisfaction, the feeling of arriving but not quite there.

To slow returns,

Herb
Poet of From the Quiet Verse