Threshold III

Given room enough, a single thing can simply rest.

A wide warm ground opens across the surface, the colour of stone held in low afternoon light. Near its centre a dark form settles, quiet and complete, at ease in all the space around it. A few pale lines drift past, slow and unhurried, and the ground lets them go. Everything here has room to breathe, and takes it.

There is a grace in a thing that fills only what it needs and leaves the rest in peace. The quiet moves past the surface, settling slowly outward and filling the air with the same unhurried calm.