When life feels heavy, I always find peace here.
When my palm touches the stone warmed by the day’s sun, that warmth seeps into me, coursing through my veins like blood. All I need to do is wait—until it fills me completely, until I feel whole again.
When things get hard, I am always drawn back here. I can sit for hours in this stillness, listening to the quiet murmur of my own thoughts. I can close my eyes and drink in the silence offered by this city of stillness, nestled on a forested slope. I can listen to the whisper of the pines—like women gossiping softly, exchanging news about the sleeping town below.
The setting sun caresses my skin with gentle hands. I can almost feel it holding me, the way it did when I was a child. I lean into that memory—the one that always calls me back here when life feels too heavy. And then, without words, without thoughts, I speak to something within me—and it eases, just a little.
I take a few stones out of the basket of my emotions and toss them into the ditch. But the rest I carry home. I’m not ready yet to part with my sadness. I’ll tame it, because I still need it. Later, I’ll repaint it—turn it into something softer, something beautiful—and tuck it away in the quiet corners of my heart, close enough to reach whenever I need it.
I sit in the stillness, speaking—but not praying. It feels more like telling my sorrow a story.
Above the city of silence, a plane passes with a low hum. I follow it with my eyes, like sending away a curse, and then close them again.
When life feels heavy, I always find peace here. Summer or winter... spring or fall... I feel blessed that I can always come—sit, speak, and, most of all, feel freely. Without shame. Without fear.
When I’m in pain, when life feels too heavy, I always find peace of soul here— silence... acceptance... a quiet reconciliation with pain, with sorrow, and with the simple truth that some things are forever beyond our control.
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