Grasses offered their secrets
in a language not of sound,
but of movement,
of touch.

No words were needed,
only the flow of life,
the barter of moments
and shadows.

Somewhere, a lone flower
held the quiet truth
of what was once said,
never captured,
always known.

Paths crossed, seldom walked
by any creature
other than time
itself.

An expanse of stillness,
yet brimming with the
subtle exchanges
of existence.