The Quill of Samantha Grace Newcastle

garden

  • grandmother’s garden

    In the garden of my grandmother’s house, magnolias bloomed like whispers. their petals soft as secrets shared, fragrant memories drifting on warm breezes, shadows of afternoons spent in laughter.   Azaleas, bright as a child’s laughter, their bold hues painting the air, each blossom a promise of joy, cuttings planted with threads of love, each… Read more

  • Certainty is this

    In the stillness before dawn my morning unfolds as I awaken wondering how many times can mercy rise insistent as the sun Then I remember a promise,carried on the breath of the wind, it’s the Holy Spirit speaking:“Great is Your faithfulness.” I think of the enemy,the creeping doubt,the voice that slithers through the chasms of… Read more

  • Why, How, Reason?

    How do you write, why do you write; I was asked, and so with the weight of the room upon me and in a fragile breath I replied: Affective empathy,partial hyper empathy,I taste the salt of sorrow along with the sweet ache of absence,each word a single cord, becoming either a noose or a safety… Read more