The Breathless Pause

The ink-spilled sky begins to thin, a subtle fracture in the dark where scattered stars release their hold.

A cold wind shivers through the grass, the heavy breath of sleeping earth exhaled across the valley floor.

Between the night and waking day, a fragile quiet takes the space— the breathless pause before the dawn.

Then slowly, gold begins to spill, a quiet hemorrhage of light that washes over silent stones.