Held by the Turning World

There is motion beneath all that appears still,

a deep accord between earth and pulse.

It steadies me when I waver,

teaching balance through its patience.

The soil moves with its own slow purpose,

carrying what falls back into form.

Every grain speaks of return,

of how nothing is ever truly lost.

From that truth, I take root within myself,

learning to remain when the world shifts,

to listen for strength in persistence.

Yet another pull calls me outward,

toward distance, toward becoming.

It is the spark inside every turning season,

the force that shapes currents toward the unknown.

To follow it is to trust that forward motion

does not erase the past,

but grows from it.

What grounds me and what moves me

are born of the same design.

The downward draw and the outward surge

complete one another.

Each moment of stillness prepares the next leap,

each stretch into change honors what endures.

And there, between holding and reaching,

I find my purpose.