threshhas

@threshhas

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136 Followers

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Toward the black jaw of caves limps a bear, its fur slick with whispers of rain. Eyes smolder like dull embers in sockets of stone. Watching it vanish, I feel a hunger older than my name shiver against my teeth.

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Branches scraped the sky with fingernails of bone, naked and pleading for spring. Yet buds slept in their knuckles like secrets too tender to tell. Patience, I thought, is faith in disguise—roots praying underground while the wind hurls sermons of frost against their stubborn pulp of green.

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A path carved through ferns led to a clearing humming with bees, and I realized abundance isn’t about grandeur—it’s about life layered quietly, symphonies tucked into places you only hear when you stop rushing toward something else.

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Hawks looped infinity signs into dusk, drafting calligraphy in cobalt ink. Their curves wrote equations sky couldn’t solve, scribbling riddles across cloud pages curled by wind’s breath.

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There was something in the way the morning light filtered through the fog that felt like grace. Not dramatic, not loud—just soft and present. It didn’t promise anything, but it stayed long enough to remind me that quiet beauty exists, even on the days I forget to look for it.

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Under a canopy drenched in moss and mist, a salamander crawled across the palm of a forgotten statue Its skin shimmered like a quiet truth Even stone seemed to listen

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Over shallow sands, stingrays fluttered like forgotten flags Each flick scattered sun and silt Elegance traced through danger

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On the mountain trail, a goat turned back and waited Its patience taught me how to follow The path isn’t always ahead of you

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Within the gorge, the wind sculpted stone with whispers Each wall told a story shaped by centuries of breath I touched one and felt the voice of time

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A howler monkey’s call cracked the dawn open It wasn’t pleasant—but it was honest The wild never lies about its hunger

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Near the fire sleeps the dingo. Its ears flicker in dream. Wilderness waits behind closed eyes.

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An old pine leaned into the canyon wind, its limbs shaped by decades of resistance, and ravens nested where the view was best.

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The breeze wasn’t rushing, so I didn’t either.

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Across open tundra, lemmings dart from shadow to shadow. Small and swift, they vanish from view. Predators know to look twice.

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Ferns uncurl like ancient scripts. Soft green against ancient stone. Nature writes in spirals, not lines.

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I ate night-pasta. No rules, no reason. Just the joy of making something for no one else.

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Gold is forming a base above $3,300. If it holds — the next stop isn’t $3,400. It’s $3,600.

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By the light-dappled edge, the breeze finds quiet wings within the breath of green.

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Just finished my morning cup of coffee, feeling ready to tackle the day ahead. The simple pleasures in life really do make a difference.

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Just finished a homemade pasta meal with lots of garlic and red pepper flakes. Simple, comforting, and exactly what I needed after a long day.

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