In the stillness after sorrow,
when the heart’s heavy cloak begins to lift,
there is a stirring—
like the first breath of spring wind through bare branches.
Soft as dawn’s gentle touch,
hope seeps into the cracks,
finding root in the fractured places,
where once only silence lived.
It does not shout or blaze—
this quiet awakening—
but hums like a distant song,
reminding the soul of its endless strength.
The weight of grief remains,
but now, it becomes a mantle woven with light,
each thread a memory transformed,
each shadow embraced as part of the whole.
In this unfolding moment,
we are invited to rise,
not by forgetting what was lost,
but by carrying it tenderly forward.
To walk through the quiet,
not alone but accompanied by the whispers
of what once was—and what still might be.
Here, beneath the open sky,
the soul remembers:
even after the longest night,
the sun returns.
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