Silence Has Texture

Silence has texture— rough as morning light through leaves, thick as held breath.

We live in the spaces between words, in the dark folds where listening begins. A pause is not nothing. It holds the weight of what comes after.

Rain arrives without announcement, drops dissolving into the waiting earth. The world drinks what it needs and asks no questions.

In stillness, I am not alone. Something hums beneath the skin— the old song of belonging, the whispered conversation between root and soil.