31/01/2026
We are merely guests in a house of leaves,
Walking through a breath drawn long before our own.
A quiet lesson in the humbleness of being,
Where every shadow is a secret the earth has grown.
To pull the green apart is to find the soul,
To seek the hidden gold within the emerald grain.
It is not a color I seek to control,
But a mood I unearth, like the scent of the rain.
These are the world’s most silent words,
The heavy pulse of grass beneath wandering feet.
A language older than the songs of the birds,
Where the patient canopy and the ancient soil meet.
To lean into the moss is to touch the pulse,
Of a life that endures in the muted, somber deep.
It is the earth’s own rhythm, steady and true,
A heartbeat in the wood that never goes to sleep.
🌱
