Dusk Listening

The world gets quiet first, then louder with what's left unsaid— a cicada's theorem, leaves confessing to the wind.

You stand between the light you knew and darkness you'll inherit, holding your breath as if stillness could change the outcome.

The trees don't apologize for letting go. They've learned that falling is not failure, just a different way of moving toward earth.

Listen: the day is not dying, it's becoming something else— a memory that hums, a ghost that knows your name.