Pneuma

The pulse quickens, steady, unbidden, awakening something remembered.

Silence gathers, vast and listening, where rhythm shapes itself before sound is born.

A bell hums in the marrow, stirring language from its depths, opening breath to expression.

Between stillness and movement, a door swings wide, the unseen stepping forward as offering.

Rain traces unseen paths across sky and stone, each drop a quiet arrival, each step a crossing.

Hands move, voice rises, presence becomes its own unfolding—given, received, returned.

In the great tide of becoming, creation walks its path home.