The year rose without trumpet or flame
yet the mountains felt it shift
roots loosened their ancient grip
what was carried across lifetimes
was finally set down
on holy ground
old labors reached their ending
names, vows, and burdens
returned to the dark
where all things are forgiven
still, the fire remembers
tender places glow
where courage once broke open the heart
this is not ruin
it is the forge
in the quiet, something stirs
hidden paths realign
an idea learning how to breathe
a future assembling its grammar
unlikely threads weaving themselves
into something that can last
stand at the threshold
neither ending nor beginning
but becoming
nothing is demanded
no lineage must be redeemed tonight
no ending needs to be named
only presence
the brighter months are coming
and they know your name
°Woodlights Woudlicht
