entry twenty four — scattered light, fractured grace: a quiet archive of light, loss, and what remains.
Aculeus in Caput Mortuum
one breath the sky was fire;
the next, the dark leaned in.
branches held the violet open,
then closed around it,
like hands remembering how to hide.
thank you, Spirit,
for the sudden pink
and the holy purple—
even though both refused to stay.
thank you, even for the shadows
that always find their way back,
despite the sunshine of a beautiful day,
even when they don’t ask permission
to come,
or to leave.
c.//2026
“scattered light, fractured grace” is a photography series from my art journaling journey about how light doesn’t always fall straight. Sometimes it fractures through memory, grief, and grace—and what was broken still glimmers. It is a collection of soft reckonings. Fragments, unfiltered, and written in the in-between.
catacosmosis 