Pungent scent of fir
Woody incense centuries old
Petrichor lingers

The wind moves quiet through the bones of trees,
hollow-limbed and aching for the lost embrace of leaves.
Winter lingers in the spaces left behind,
a hush of frost, a breath suspended.

The earth is brittle beneath my steps,
cracked and waiting, as if longing too...
for something softer, something lost,
something warm enough to wake what sleeps beneath.

Yet here...light spills through the barren reach of sky,
thin as a thread, fragile as a memory,
stretching its golden fingers over frostbitten earth,
brushing against me like a voice I once knew.

It does not burn, nor does it stay,
but in this fleeting ember of warmth, I close my eyes
and remember the way summer once held me,
the way laughter once rang in the air
before the silence of snow settled in its place.

How cruel it is, this tender warmth...
to remind me of what I have lost,
to stir the embers of things long buried,
only to fade before I can gather them close.

Yet still, I lift my face to the pale winter sun,
let it rest upon my skin like a hand once held,
a love once known, a dream not yet forgotten.
It does not stay. It never does.
But for a moment, the cold is gentled,
and in its fragile fire, I remember
what it is to be warm.

Lunate crescent glow
Soft rhapsodic whispering
Dream weaver has come

Swirly, twirly clouds
Whirling in the bright blue sky
Dancing with the wind

Whispers call the stars
Dare to dream through moonlit scars
Hope beyond the far

I stood at the edge of something...
a moment, a door, a whisper of change,
light pooling at my feet,
the weight of all I had lost pressing against my ribs.

The air was thick with unsaid things,
with words I should have spoken,
with hands I should have held tighter,
with love I should have let spill from my lips
before silence took its place.

And then...
a shift, a sliver of gold in the gray,
a breath of warmth against my frozen skin,
the shape of mercy, of undoing,
of something not yet broken.

I reached...
fingertips grazing the edge of grace,
lungs pulling, aching, desperate...
but the moment wavered,
quivered like a candle’s last flicker,
then slipped through my grasp
before I could breathe.

Gone.
Like a name swallowed by the wind.
Like footprints in the tide.
Like a heartbeat fading beneath trembling hands.

I am left in the wake of it,
airless, weightless, drowning in what could have been.
Was it mercy that it came at all?
Or cruelty that it did not stay?

In a study of sonder, I found your words,
Like whispered secrets from unseen birds.
They fluttered through the air, soft as a sigh,
Inviting my mind to wander, to fly.
Each line a current, deep and profound,
Pulling me gently to places unbound.
With every stanza, the world expands,
A mosaic of hearts, of dreams in your hands.
I'm moved by the echoes you weave through the night,
By the subtle shadows, the tender light.
In your verses, I see the truths we all share,
The hidden connections, the souls laid bare.
Your words are a map to lands yet unknown,
Where thoughts and emotions can finally be sown.
I follow them, guided by each careful thread,
A journey where silence is also said.
In a study of sonder, I found my own voice,
Awakened by yours, I made the choice…
To write, to dream, to seek and to find,
A poem of my own, now forever entwined.

Is it me?
Am I real?
Do I matter?
Can I be?
I stretch beyond,
Explore the sky,
Ask questions deep inside,
Reach where the stars collide,
Wonder blooms within me,
Building stronger roots in time,
The path unfolds like a rhyme,
My voice growing, bold and free,
A tapestry I choose to weave,

Is it me?
Yes, it’s me.

Pure as morning mist
A melody wrapped in gold
Beauty fills the breeze

Moonlight on soft wings
Whispers dance through forest leaves
Stars hum lullabies

Faces blur and pass
Each soul with dreams, hopes and scars
Stories in their eyes

Beneath the pines, where shadows weep,
The forest calls, a secret deep.
The wind it stirs, a quiet plea,
A mirror held to the soul in me.

The roots dig in, they twist, they bind,
Like threads of thought within my mind.
Each knot, a truth I’ve yet to face,
Each branch, a memory I can’t erase.

Needles fall, soft whispers of time,
Their gentle descent feels almost divine.
Each carries a secret, quiet and rare,
A fragment of self left lingering there.

The stillness speaks, a tender hymn,
Of light and shadow, thick and thin.
It strips me bare, it leaves me whole,
Revealing the core of my restless soul.

The forest hums with ancient grace,
Its breath a balm, its depth a space.
It draws the hidden wounds to light,
And grants me strength in the quiet night.

In the shadowed depths, I find my peace,
And in my heart, the thrum won't cease.
For though the forest mends and heals,
It sharpens truths that time reveals.

I walk the path, my spirit bends,
But in these trees, the breaking mends.
For in the pines, I’ve come to find,
The untamed echoes of my mind.

I wonder, as you drift through silent air,
barefoot on the edges of twilight’s stare,
where do your thoughts like rivers run,
under the hush of a sinking sun?

Do echoes call you from distant years,
soft as whispers, thick with tears?
Do you trace the paths your heart once knew,
through meadows gold with morning dew?

Is it longing that lingers on your skin,
a ghost of laughter lost in the wind?
Or is it hope that fills your chest,
a quiet ache, a fleeting rest?

I wonder, as you wander there,
do you dream of hands that once held care?
Of voices warm, of love untold,
of stories spun in autumn’s gold?

Or do you dream of what may be,
a shore unseen beyond the sea?
A place where all the echoes fade,
and only light and longing stay.

I wonder.

Soft winds kiss the earth
Wheat sways like a quiet song
Heart beat in the soil