There is no thunder here,
no revelation wrapped in lightning.
Only the sound
of a spoon tapping the side of a cup,
and the way light slips
through the curtain's edge
like it forgot to knock.

Life does not always ask for attention.
Sometimes it waits,
barefoot and unremarkable,
in the doorway of an ordinary morning.

You reach for your phone,
but the silence touches you first.
A sparrow shifts on the windowsill.
A breeze rearranges nothing in particular.

This is the shape of now-
not the stories you'll tell later,
but the breath you didn't notice
you were holding.

We keep looking ahead
for something larger,
louder,
lasting.

But maybe the truth is
life lives here-
in the tilt of your head
when you listen,
in the quiet between questions,
in the space
where nothing needs to happen
and still everything does.

You are here.
Still breathing.
Still becoming.

And that is enough.