Welcome to my happy place of DIY, homemade, homegrown, handmade, nourished & crafted, whole hearted living. Finding magic in the mundane & growing some roots in the process.
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When I was a little girl, I wrote prolifically. Scribbling stories, poetry, and songs in notebooks, on walls, napkins, and every loose scrap of paper I could get my hands on. And, then I stopped. Not strong enough to stand up to the voices that told me I wasn’t enough. Eventually believing the narrative. Setting down my pen.
Here I am, all these years later, with words bubbling on my tongue and tingling at my fingertips. I am neck deep in the process of healing soul wounds and releasing generational trauma. I am working hard to relearn how to process emotion, deal with stress, release what isn’t serving, and hold space for the gifts God has for me, all while navigating a new season of life & motherhood.
I’m constantly pushing my children to fly, yet second guessing the spread of my own wings. At 43, my spirit is tired of fences, lanes, and niches. I choose to create my own story. After much internal wrestling, I have decided to push myself out of the box and start writing again. Sharing the little glimmers and magic words that imprint on my soul, here on these pages. And while I realize including prose and poetry in this creative space doesn’t necessarily blend with recipes and DIY projects, this is MY happy place of whole hearted, intentional living. I am a multi-dimensional being. These words, incantations, rhymes, and lyrics are simply another element of me. I hope they touch another heart like they have touched mine.
And so, I share In The Aspen Grove.
A little bit of magic that came to me while taking senior pictures for my 3rd born. Watching her twirl in the setting sun with autumn swirling all around her. A moment I will cherish always.
I took her photo in the aspen grove under the golden light of an autumn sun.
My heart in my throat and tears in my eyes as possibility and hope radiated from her skin.
Flesh of my flesh. Slowly unraveling the root that binds as she gently drifts off to create worlds of her own. Daughter. Slipping from my grasp, leaving the safety of my branches,
but ever present in my soul. Like the leaves that fall in October,
in the mountains of my motherhood.
-Missy Magnusson-
Gypsy Magpie
10.07.24