The Transformative Beauty

The forest leans in as if to share a secret,

branches bending beneath a sky that cannot keep still.

Leaves murmur against the wind, their edges gilded

in fleeting sunlight that feels like an echo of something—

an ache, or a beginning.

Between the roots, the earth exhales;

its breath is damp, mossy, ancient.

You trace patterns in the air with your hands,

reaching for things you can’t name—

a fleeting memory of childhood shadows,

or the weight of silence pressing gently on your chest.

And then it happens. The turn, the spark.

The moment everything hums in alignment,

as though the world has suddenly remembered

its own heartbeat.

Above, the sky bruises with twilight,

clouds rippling like pages half-written.

A single bird cuts the horizon in two,

its wings outstretched, trembling with purpose.

You watch it vanish, as if swallowed

by the edges of an unfinished story.

Something shifts within you,

subtle as a breeze lifting the edges of a curtain,

but vast enough to fill the spaces you didn’t know

were waiting to be filled.

And still, the world continues,

its rhythm unchanged—steady, primal, endless.

But you, here, in this breath of between,

have been altered.