It's early morning —
the light descends like grace.
Gently touching the ridges,
tracing the edges of sleeping peaks,
spreading warmth through the blue silence.
Light — a traveler with no home.
It doesn't stay — it never does.
It simply passes through,
and for a fleeting moment
it paints the land into being,
in all its glory.
As newborn day unfolds,
light keeps moving, searching new pathways.
Rays move like invisible hands through the air,
slowly shaping, erasing, reshaping again —
forgetting everything as they leave.
