{ satya } - yogi. mama. writer. austin, tx

In the cold there was a hike to a glacier in the mountains. Lives converge in wild places where you cross marsh bridges and step-to-stones, following chipmunks and gaining wisdom from crooked trees. Magic happens everywhere, but the forrest holds special enchantment.

My feet tell the story of my day.
Tired, but not weary. Dirty, but not soiled.
These are the feet of my work.
Strong and able to recover, to press on, to run, and to ground.
They carry the weight of my body and they anchor the lightness of my mind.
These feet will strike the earth, float and dance across my mat, and follow my heels over my head in love.
I bare my feet, my father's daughter.