The water sleeps in the arms of the mountains,
calm, deep turquoise — holding the color of silence.
Yet beneath the surface, something moves —
a secret, a quiet whisper, an awakening.
The air thickens, heavy and moist,
as if the world itself were holding its breath.
The wind arrives with a question —
one I can feel, but not yet understand.
I feel something ancient waking,
something I've always known,
but never truly listened to.
Everything speaks to me, softly,
in the language of air, of stone, of moss.
