Scout them out…
those fields of my heart.
For they are vast and untethered,
where wild winds are dancing with the hush of longing,
and the sun spills gold upon forgotten dreams.

Tread softly,
for the earth remembers every footstep,
every whisper of love that once grew tall,
now bending like wheat beneath the weight of time.

Somewhere, a river sings my name,
curling through valleys of what was and what could be,
carving echoes into the marrow of me;
a quiet hymn of endless becoming.

So go, wander if you must,
but know this:
the heart is a land both fierce and forgiving,
and though untethered,
it remembers the way home.