She arrives without announcement,
hills bowing softly beneath her glow.
A bare tree lifts its arms in knowing -
sky and earth agreeing
this moment belongs to both.
Alone, she does not diminish.
The dark makes room for her radiance,
and in the wide silence
I remember how small awe makes me feel-
and how safe.
Look closer.
The feather on the ground
is not discarded
it is resting.
Held to the light,
it becomes a spectrum,
proof that what seems small
can carry entire skies.
The grass in shadow
does not beg to be seen
it waits.
Detail becomes magnificent
when we stop rushing past it.
The ordinary is wondrous.
Meaning wants to be found.
And I am still here
bleeding, yes
but doing so with intention,
with beauty,
with a pulse that refuses
to let go.
They never left me.
Not once.
Distance, it turns out,
is not abandonment—
just another way
of flying together.
Even the ground remembers how to greet.
Rain loosens its voice,
erosion opens the mouth of the land,
and what spills out is not warning,
not loss—
but hello.
I am not asking you to be impressed.
I am asking you to slow down.
We do not ask them to speak.
We stand close enough to listen.
Time rests in their skin,
weather held in quiet lines,
and in this stillness,
we learn how patience looks.
