Moon River

I’ve always known that energy never ceases to exist. We are energy, and that means none of us can truly be lost. Science calls it the law of conservation—energy can’t be created or destroyed, only changed from one form to another. The same truth whispers in the woods, sings in the garden, and settles deep in the soul if you’re quiet enough to hear.

Nature tells it best: the trees fall and feed the wildflowers. Seeds slip into the soil and rise again green and new. Rivers vanish underground only to sing further on. Over and over, the pattern repeats: nothing ends, it only changes form.

That’s when the image of the heirloom seed came to me. Souls are just like seeds, carried through storms, kept through winters, and planted again with memory intact. Each new planting adds to the richness of the garden. One thriving soul shifts the whole harvest.

But not everyone can hear this truth the same way. So I’ve learned to speak in nature’s tongue—roots, rivers, light, and soil. Comfort comes gentler than argument. Still, there are moments when a little sass is needed too—sharp as a snapped green bean, cutting through nonsense but always rooted in love.

I carry all this in my birth, written into the sky and numbers the night I arrived. Born at 2:23, under a Leo sun, Taurus moon, and Gemini rising, I was stamped as both healer and storyteller, a threshold walker who shines heart-fire while staying rooted in earth and speaking truth across divides. Even Einstein’s law feels personal now: if energy can never be created, then we’ve all been here since the beginning. Stardust and soil, river and root—we’ve always been, and we always will be.

And then there are the signs from those who’ve crossed the veil. My momma loved Andy Williams, his voice reminding her of my daddy. After she passed, his songs kept slipping into my music thread, though I never clicked a button for him. It used to irritate me, until the day I realized it wasn’t her nudging me—it was Dad. That morning, on my way to work, I felt him close, one of those moments where his voice dropped inside my head. Just then, Andy Williams began to sing Moon River.

I whispered, “Thank you, Daddy.”

The message was clear: I’m not gone, child. I’m on this river, too. We’re traveling together, and when it’s your time to cross, you’ll know the song. You’ll know me.