Even the Stillness holds a Storm

Sowed in soil is the seed of hope,

Soft as dusk and hard as rope.

Pink, mauve is the sky where birds elope,

Unaware of mud & muck below the slope.

The trees, like stoic, weathered kin,

Hold stories buried deep within.

They’ve heard the screams the wind forgot,

They’ve seen the battles the people fought.

Birdsong floats through morning haze,

A lullaby to mask the velvety maze.

The humdrum life, so sweet, so near,

Yet stitched with sorrow, love, and fear.

The fields look calm, the meadows wide,

But roots below still twist and hide.

What grows in light was once in dark,

Each bloom a scorch, each storm a rainbow arc.

And yet we breathe, we build, we bend,

We hold our losses like heirlooms’ end.

We walk the path both soft and rough,

Because life is cruel. And kind. Enough.