The Returning
13 May 2025

There is a hush beneath the stars,
A pull not forward—but back.
Not to undo, not to forget—
But to arrive where we began.

We scatter like seeds on wind-blown hills,
Chasing wonder, chasing will.
But always, always something calls—
A whisper older than the fall.

It isn’t youth we seek again,
Nor glory, nor the roar of men—
But balance in the turning tides,
The place the river meets the sky.

The trees remember. The rocks still hum.
The quiet knows where we are from.
And love—unchanging, yet undone—
Draws every soul back to the One.

So let me walk this last long mile
Not with regret, but with a smile.
For what I am has always been
Held in the arms of the returning.