Peaceful. Calm. A place to come back to.

A bedroom that holds the whole body —
soft, still, and finally at rest.

Nature is here —

leaves and wind,
trees with age and wisdom,
water that runs deep and calm.

The lake house. The ocean.

The places where the quiet
opened all the way out.

Sunset rests at the edge of the day —

warmth held gently,
never rushed.

Only two seasons stay close:

Summer —
soft warmth,
a long breath,
light that lingers.

Fall —
balance, release,
golden change,
and the first snow.

And through it all, one thread holds steady:

bend, but don't break.

The loon and woodpecker —

small signs that say:
here. now. safe.

And in the quiet,

the dream she had set aside
was still there, waiting —
patient as the wood,
still as deep water.

It had always been there.

This piece does not ask anything of her.
It simply holds what she already knew.

Not her portrait.

Her permission.

The quiet, finally, feels like coming home.