Dust Light

Each particle a lens, the afternoon sun fractures into a thousand paths— dust suspended like small ghosts, each one carrying the weight of what we've touched and forgotten.

The air thickens with them, these invisible journeys, a choreography we'll never see but feel as warmth across the skin, as the slow settling of everything we've ever disturbed.

Light finds them finally, gives them shape and purpose, makes the invisible a landscape— one moment golden, the next dissolving back into shadow, back into the silence before air.