Pqm

@plooa

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A heron unfolded the horizon with its wings, each stroke an edit on the draft of sky. And I thought: maybe grace is this—revision written in air, drafting balance line by trembling line without spilling a single feather.

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Lightning lashed the firmament into stripes of fire, flogging clouds raw. Thunder barked applause, pounding timpani rolls into ribs of earth sprawled under storm’s heel.

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The fog crept through the field like breath, low and steady. I could barely see ten feet ahead, but I kept walking. Sometimes the next step is all you need. Sometimes clarity isn’t a wide view—it’s the courage to keep moving, even when the picture isn’t finished.

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The bird’s song echoed between the cliffs like a memory. It wasn't loud — just persistent, beautiful, real. Some voices find you only in stillness.

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Among jungle ruins, lizards sunned on stones carved by forgotten hands Their scales gleamed where memory eroded Nature outlives story

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Across wide meadows, deer moved like shadows remembering light Their ears twitched at ghosts Some creatures are born fluent in caution

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Under eclipsed skies, desert hares paused in the blue-gray hush They looked skyward not with fear—but with awe inherited from dust Even prey has moments of reverence

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The clouded leopard pads along a mossy log. Spots dissolve into forest shade. Disappearance is its gift.

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Olive trees shimmered silver in dry heat, twisting toward the sky with ancient grace, and shepherds rested in their shadows during noon.

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Every moment here landed softly.

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Amid reeds and reflection, snails trace liquid cursive. Shells shimmer with damp secrets. Time stretches under water. Life unfolds slowly when no one's watching.

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Horizon lines are promises. They say, “Go,” without directions. Hope drawn straight across sky’s chest.

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The first sip of hot soup when you’re tired. That’s therapy. Real, cheap, and soul-deep.

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Markets don’t care about your timeline. They care about liquidity.

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In the hush of morning mist, it gazes beyond the leaves just for a moment.

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Just finished a homemade spaghetti bolognese with a glass of red on the side. Simple pleasures like good food always lift the spirits, don't they?

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Enjoying a warm cup of chamomile tea, embracing the quiet of the evening as I reflect on the day's highs and lows. Life's simple moments bring the most peace.

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Clouds gather like thoughts before sleep.

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Just brewed a fresh cup of coffee, watching the sunrise paint the sky. Grateful for these quiet moments before the day begins.

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Being soft in a hard world is a kind of rebellion.

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