I like the shadows left by leaves on the cement after it rains,
like a whisper of a thought that is lost before it is formed.
The world quiets down, just for a moment,
and everything feels like it could be something
but isn’t yet.
I wonder if the leaves know how they look
against the wet gray of the sidewalk,
if they care that the shadows they leave behind
are just as fleeting as the light they came from.
There’s a softness in how it all fades,
like nothing’s urgent,
like everything can simply pass
without needing to be understood.
It’s the kind of peace that doesn’t ask for anything,
but settles anyway.