Light Through Leaves

Morning filters green, a million small decisions made by chlorophyll— each leaf turning its quiet face to an invisible geometry.

We walk beneath this patience, our shadows brief and borrowed, never staying long enough to learn the grammar of the trees, how they speak in spirals.

The sun doesn't hurry. It has already seen centuries fold into the soil, watched empires of moss claim their kingdoms in the dark.

We call it peace, this green indifference, but it's something older— the world continuing its slow conversation without waiting for our names.