This evening felt like a soft exhale. The sky burned low and steady at the horizon, as if the day didn’t want to leave without saying something beautiful first. The orange glow against the snow made everything feel suspended — winter holding warmth for just a few minutes longer. I noticed how the light didn’t rush; it lingered, stretched thin, and slowly gave way.
The crossed lines in the sky looked like paths — reminders that so many things pass overhead without touching the ground where I stand. Movement above, stillness below. It made me think about how much of life is like that — urgency and motion all around, while the heart quietly waits for its own timing.
The buildings and trees were only silhouettes, but they didn’t feel empty. They felt steady. Present. Enough. There was comfort in their darkness — not everything needs to be lit to be known.
Tonight felt like a small lesson in transition: endings can be vivid, not sad. Quiet, not lonely. A reminder that closure can glow before it fades.
No comments:
Post a Comment