The Turning

The air carries a weight unknown, A fragile calm, a heavy tone. The world exhales, a breath held tight, Caught between the day and night. Faint traces linger on the ground, Whispers of what can’t be found. The stillness grows, a quiet tide, Holding all that’s left inside. And as it turns, the season slows, The light retreats, the shadow grows. What once was warm now feels so far, Like chasing after a fading star. A fleeting glow on distant hills, A hush that bends but never fills. The sky wears grey, the earth holds tight, Caught in the arms of endless night. Time moves soft, with gentle weight, Unfolding into another state. The world transforms, a solemn vow, And all that’s left is only now. And as it turns, the season slows, The light retreats, the shadow grows. What once was warm now feels so far, Like chasing after a fading star. In this stillness, a truth remains, A fleeting ache, a tender chain. Though all will change, this moment stays, Etched in the heart of the turning days. And as it turns, the season slows, The light retreats, the shadow grows. What once was warm now feels so far, Like chasing after a fading star. And as it turns, the season slows, The light retreats, the shadow grows. What once was warm now feels so far, Like chasing after a fading star.