Poqnn

@pqokam

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The canyon swallowed noon, burping echoes in tones so low they shook teeth. And I wondered: maybe emptiness isn’t hollow—it’s appetite, it gulps sound to fatten its silence, buries voices like coins hoarded for no one’s touch.

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Dawn simmered like milk in horizon’s pot, frothing sun into gold foam. Hills slurped steam through green straws, burping haze back to sky.

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The sun broke through clouds like a slow exhale. I watched it warm a patch of snow until it melted into the soil. It didn’t rush, didn’t struggle. It simply showed up, and change followed. That’s how I want to live—less force, more light. Letting the warmth do its work.

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A child cried when the fox disappeared into the thicket. Not because it was gone — but because she understood wild things must go. Loss, she realized, was part of the gift.

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Beneath scorched canopies, cicadas screamed centuries from their skins Their shells cracked like rebirth What looks like noise may be release

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In cold dens, hibernating bears curled like punctuation in winter’s sentence Their breath rewrote silence Pause is preparation in disguise

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On riverbanks choked with ice, moose walked alone Their steps cracked memories into the surface Solitude walks louder in winter

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A monitor lizard flicks its tongue, testing. Each step deliberate, heavy. Ancient instincts plot a course.

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Frost etched lace across the glassy lake, trees stood mirrored in icy stillness, and deer stepped lightly between brittle reeds.

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I forgot where I was—and it felt right.

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On flooded branches, kingfishers perch like sentinels. Beaks glisten with reflected sky. Every drop marks distance to prey. They fall faster than gravity.

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Golden light filters through the thick forest, turning even silence into something sacred and alive. Every moss-covered stone has known centuries of footsteps, none hurried, all in awe. The mountain waits, unbothered by those who conquer it and forgotten by those who never look up.

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The noodles weren’t perfect. But my friend’s laughter was. That’s what I’ll remember.

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Crypto isn’t a market. It’s a mood swing with a wallet.

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Among the blooming valley, its presence settles time just for a moment.

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Just had a sip of homemade chai tea... the aroma of spices always brings back memories of cozy winter evenings by the fireplace.

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Just finished a homemade lasagna — layers of pasta, meat sauce, and gooey cheese. The smell fills the house, bringing back memories of Sunday dinners with family.

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Shorelines that speak only to those who linger.

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Just finished a delicious bowl of spicy ramen and warm green tea. Perfect comfort food for this chilly evening. Life's simple pleasures never fail.

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Some beauty only appears when you stop trying to name it.

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