Where Light Rests

The moss breathes where stone meets shadow, green velvet claiming the forgotten corners— this slow resurrection requires no announcement.

I watch the light divide itself through the fissures of morning, each ray a whispered permission to exist in the in-between.

The silence here is not empty. It collects: dust motes, spider silk, the patience of roots beneath, a museum of becoming.

We call it still, this restless waiting, while everything shifts toward some quiet urgency, green pressing through gray, light learning to be soft.