I Am a Wonder Tender
I do not rush the bloom,
nor beg the stars to speak in louder tongues.
I sit with shadows, slow and still,
until their stories spill like warm tea.
I do not seek to solve the sky—
only to witness how the light
folds into cloud,
how the wind cradles the last golden leaf
like a whispered farewell.
I gather symbols like river stones,
each one smooth with memory,
each one humming a quiet myth
no textbook ever taught me.
I write not to explain—
but to remember.
To trace the curve of a feeling
before it vanishes.
My camera is not a hunter.
It is a bowl,
catching the flicker of a bird
or the trembling of my own breath
against the dawn.
I build altars out of ordinary things—
a spoon, a feather, a word unspoken.
I believe holiness lives
in the moments we don’t post,
in the silences we keep like heirlooms.
I do not preach.
I tend.
I do not claim truth.
I light small lanterns and place them along the path,
just in case someone
is walking in the dark
and still believes
in wonder.
- Vendredi
No comments:
Post a Comment