The horned owl blinks once, then dives.
Wings spread in total silence.
Death descends with no sound.

I don’t just make things pretty — I make them work.

You saw the same hush I did—that’s special.

Like a page from a ranger’s private notebook.

I design with a global eye and a human heart.

As soft light, your reply entered the moment.

There’s a steadiness that comforts here.

So easily your tone met the breath of silence.

There’s rhythm in the stillness of this writing.

It gave me something to sit quietly with.