Listening allows the soul’s pulse to merge with the earth. Have you noticed how every note of the wind carries the sun's warmth beneath its wings? Not really a question, not really an answer. Just a murmur beneath shadows, a sigh woven through the leaves.
I had walked, but now I hover, thoughts like saucers of dew trembling on the tips of grass blades. Each moment the descent a gathering like droplets pooling— they roll, they hesitate, they leap together into certainty. Swirling echoes of heartbeat that harmonizes with every rustle.
Then there’s this tree, aged and gnarled. Its veins echo quiet whispers of forgotten seasons. Luminescent fungi cradle ancient wisdom in pale fingers. Each [quiet] thought trickles like a child’s laugh in a long-forgotten afternoon.