They chase the sun with hurried hands,
trading moments for the next ascent
while I sit still, a book half-read,
beneath the hush where daylight went.

A glass of red, a bite of cheese,
the scent of oil, the stroke of brush
what joy they miss in chasing more,
while I find heaven in the hush.

By riverside, the pages turn,
each word a ripple in my mind.
They run to catch what won’t be held
I breathe, and let the world unwind.

The wind speaks softly through the reeds,
the trees bow down to let me pass.
No need for gold, or shining heights
just painted skies and fields of grass.

I do not envy all they seek,
the climb, the crowd, the constant race.
My wealth is in the quiet things
in light, in life, in open space.

So let them move, and I will stay
where stillness hums like violin,
content to live the slower way
and find my joy in everything.