The first light folds across the pond like a quiet breath.
Mist drifts low, a silver veil through which the mountain waits,
its slopes already brushed with the gold of awakening.
Lotus flowers sway without haste.
Pink and white, they hold the sun’s reflection in their open palms.
Each petal is a silent bell, ringing only to the heart.
A crane stands at the water’s edge,
one leg resting in stillness, the other poised for a step
that may never need to be taken.
Its eyes, half-lidded, hold the patience of centuries.
The pond does not ask you to stay or to leave.
It simply receives the morning,
receives the crane,
receives the soft thought that you, too, are a beginning.
Breathe once.
The mountain glows.
The day unfolds.
No comments:
Post a Comment