It is not the thunder that defines the sky,
but the way the light leans against the hills
at the end of a long, gold-tethered day.
It’s the quiet steam rising from a ceramic cup,
a small ghost of warmth in the morning air,
reminding you that you are here, and it is enough.
There is a kindness in the way the ivy climbs,
not rushing, just holding the stone in a green embrace.
There is a grace in the way we find our way back ,to the books we love, the names that feel like home,
and the soft, rhythmic hum of a heart
that has finally learned how to be still.
May you find the beauty in the "between" spaces:
the pause before a laugh,
the scent of rain on a warm sidewalk,
and the realization that even the smallest spark
is enough to keep the shadows at bay.