Orb above, a quiet sphere.
It thins to an edge, then disappears.
A silver curve, a sliver bright,
Grows to fill the ink-dark night.
Then slowly drawn, it starts to wane,
A sliver lost, to cycle again.

Wonder is the heart's quiet agreement
to never stop learning, to always find
new horizons in the familiar,
and magic in the unknown.

The universe's scale presents as an incomprehensible expanse, within which any single point of observation is fundamentally localized, revealing only a fragment of its full scope.

The mist still clung to the ancient oak, a pearl veil. Sunlight, a tentative brush, began to burn through, turning each dewdrop on the spider's silk into a miniature prism.

A robin chirped, a single, clear note, then silence returned, thick with the scent of wet earth and pine. I stood, unmoving, feeling the cool breath of the dawn on my face, watching the world awaken in hesitant, hushed tones.

The beauty wasn't in grandeur, but in this quiet unfolding, a secret shared only with the waking forest.

The ripple of a thought unseen,
A hush that settles, pure and vast.
A pulse of silence, sharp and keen,
A sound too deep for sound to last.