Holy Nature Paula Birthday Site

Paula walks where moss is holy, bare feet tracing root and rhyme; her breath a bell, the stream her choir, each fallen branch a measure of time.

Night lays down its velvet veil, stars like votives, steady, far; Paula breathes the sacred hush— the world a liturgy of star.

Sunrays spill like consecration, golden incense on fern and stone; wildflowers crown the narrow path— violet, marigold, and bone-white alone. Holy Nature Paula Birthday

Friends arrive—fox, and crow, and child— their laughter peals like chapel bells; they stitch a garland for her hair, and stories bloom in joyous swells.

The oak leans close and tells its ledger: rings of years, of storms endured; she lays a hand upon its heart— the world receives what she’s secured. Paula walks where moss is holy, bare feet

So celebrate: with thyme and dew, with open palms and open ground; Holy Nature holds this rite— Paula’s name sung all around.

A deer pauses, temple-still, its velvet antlers haloed bright; a breeze rehearses ancient psalms, and leaves applaud with filtered light. Friends arrive—fox, and crow, and child— their laughter

At the meadow’s edge the river speaks in syllables of glass and song; Paula listens, offering thanks— the current carries it along.