A child draws spirals in the sand. Waves erase them, but not the joy of drawing again. The breeze drifts inland, carrying laughter. Pines lean to listen, echoing waves. The world turns softly, as if remembering how to begin. The air itself begins to listen. Something unseen presses close— not light exactly, but what light is made of. The ones I’ve loved are currents still, moving through breath, through wind, through will. What changes is focus— love keeps widening, finding new form. Beyond the seeing, something listens. It moves like light through everything— the quiet that knows us whole. The spirals return in sand, in stars. Born from within, becoming real— are we life creating itself? ───── [Lyrics © Mario Caoile]
