The horizon glows with the first breath of day,
a soft band of rose and gold
spilling upward into the fading night.
Snow rests quiet upon the mountain,
its slopes still and eternal,
a silence deeper than words.
Against this vastness, a lone bird lifts.
Its wings slice the cool air,
not rushing, not resisting—
only carried by what is.
The mountain does not move,
the sunrise does not pause,
the bird does not question the path of its flight.
All are as they must be.
In this meeting of wing, light, and stone,
acceptance is revealed—
not as surrender,
but as belonging.
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