
The lake holds its breath
as morning leans in —
gold unraveling
on the skin of stillness.
No wind.
No wing.
Just the hush
before the hush breaks.
Then,
light—
not loud,
but certain—
dips a finger into glass,
and the surface sighs.
Ripples bloom
like thoughts
you almost forgot you had.
They scatter the sky
into shards
of blue and becoming.
I watch.
Not for answers,
but for the way
a quiet thing
can choose to glow
before it speaks.
And in that moment,
nothing moves —
but everything shifts.
About the Creator
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