Transitions - Poetry

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Image Credit: Water lilies - Monet

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In the hush between green things,

you danced—

a flicker in tall light,

where the sky bent low to listen

and shadows dared not settle.

You were all motion and marrow,

a laugh caught in the throat of a breeze,

the wild hush before a storm breaks

just to be beautiful.

Days spilled gold in your wake.

Even the stones softened,

warmed by your ing.

Nothing asked where the hours went—

they simply followed.

But the sun began to fall

earlier in the day.

Not a sorrow, not a silence,

just a slant in the light—

a gentler hunger in the wind.

You learned the stillness

of falling things.

How to wear rust as regalia.

How to step through the world

without bruising the frost.

Now—

the branches hold nothing.

Even the air forgets to move.

The ground listens with its whole body.

And still, some part of you lingers—

in the place where breath is not breath,

but memory turning to mist.

You do not leave.

You change shape.

A ripple beneath the ice.

A rumor of green

beneath all this white.