When I Stop Moving.
When I stop moving,
the world returns.
The tide breathes in again,
the fox lifts her head from the hedge,
and the air gathers itself
like a shawl drawn over my shoulders.
I used to think stillness
was a kind of death,
a dimming of the bright, urgent flame.
But no
it is the widening of the light,
the way the sun pauses
on the lip of the sea
and makes everything gold.
I kneel in the field,
and something kneels with me.
Perhaps it is God,
or perhaps it is simply
the hum of the earth,
both seem enough.
Here, at last,
I remember:
to pause is not to lose the world,
but to be returned to it,
tenderly,
as a wave returns to shore.



Your writing is strumming along my heart strings ❤️🔥 ty for sharing
🖤