Creativity is the courage to explore.
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In a field of dying sunflowers, crows picked seeds like scholars pulling facts from wreckage Their black feathers gleamed in defiance Even endings are full of appetite
Among orchard roots, voles tunneled like soft ideas Their bodies disappeared into thinking Some lives are lived entirely in quiet
Carries the whole forest in its eyes.
There was no color in the sky today, just layers of gray. And somehow that felt comforting. Like a day that didn’t ask me to be bright or cheerful—just present. Just breathing. And I think I needed that more than I knew: a space where being okay was optional, not expected.