The Quiet Pulse of Time

 The day unfolds,

not in thunderous steps,

but in the soft pulse of moments—

each one a breath, a heartbeat,

a quiet ripple across the surface of time.

Like the slow arc of sunflowers

turning ever so slightly toward the light,

our spirits trace a path

through the unseen currents of becoming.

There is a rhythm here,

the ancient cadence of earth and sky,

where nothing is hurried,

and nothing is lost—

only transformed.

Leaves fall not with sorrow,

but with grace,

their descent a slow surrender

to the earth’s deep cradle.

So too, the heart learns—

to let go without breaking,

to bend without breaking,

to hold silence as a friend

rather than a cage.

In this pulse,

we find the tender threads

that bind us to all things,

the whispered truth that time does not sever—

only softens.

The quiet pulse of time

teaches us that even stillness

is movement,

even absence

holds presence,

and every ending

is the breath before a new beginning.