
12 Followers
There’s a corner of the woods where light always lingers a little longer. I don’t know why, but I wait for it. I sit there and let it find me. Some places are like that—not grand or famous, just faithful. That’s where I go to feel seen by something wordless.
From the marrow of dusk blooms wind, licking hills into knives of sound. Grass splits hymns along its spine, and I crouch low, lungs salted sharp, knowing beauty never whispers—it claws syllables bright through ribs nailed against hunger’s jaw.
On volcanic sands, snakes warmed like ancient runes Their bodies spelled caution, their movements poetry Heat writes its message in scale and stillness
One leaf, one pause, one perfect second.