Chasing Horizons

I step into the morning’s cool embrace,

Each blade of grass slick with dreams of the night,

Above, the sky blurs into watercolor hues,

The sun a timid ember, climbing slow,

Stretching shadows into soft-spoken secrets.

The earth feels alive beneath my feet,

Its rhythm pulsing faint through soil and stone,

A language older than words—

It speaks in the creak of branches,

In the sigh of the dew-laden wind.

And yet—

A pull, a tug, something unseen,

Drags my gaze to the far-off hills,

Where mist coils like an artist’s breath,

Veiling what lies just beyond knowing.

I reach, though my arms fall short.

I run, though my steps are swallowed whole.

Still, I press on, chasing something

That cannot be held—

A feeling, a fleeting thread of light.

By the time the sun finds its throne,

I am still moving, though slower now,

Learning the beauty in the trying,

In the act of seeking without needing,

In the endless journey carved by hope.