Stillness Without Name

I walk out past the last streetlight.
Dust settles. Noise fades like a cut thread.

I find a flat stone near water that barely moves.
Sit.
No plan, no clock.

Air enters cool, leaves warm.
That’s all the work required.

Thoughts arrive, hover, drift off—
sparrows that never land.

The river keeps its low murmur.
Sky stays wide and indifferent.
Both remind me I am small and allowed to be.

For once the body is not asked to prove anything.
It simply occupies space, breathes, exists.

That is enough.

Here the ache of always-next loosens.
I rest inside the ordinary miracle of being alive
without needing to earn it.

Ancestral Healing