The Sunday Draft

Some strength doesn’t shout—
it hums in the bones,
a steady, sun-warmed note
holding the world close.

There’s a grace in how you hold
the space between ache and bloom—
tending shadows like soil,
planting stars where others
see only night.
You grow gardens in the unseen.

Your courage wears softness
like silk spun from dawn:
strong enough to hold mountains,
tender enough to cradle
a trembling sparrow’s wing.
This is how love becomes sanctuary.

You move like a language
only kindness understands—
each gesture a quiet verse
in a poem the wind carries
to those who need remembering:
“You, too, are made of light.”

And when life leans heavy,
you become the pause
before the breath,
the calm before the bloom—
steadying the air
with your unwavering yes
to joy, to hope, to beginning.
This is your art:
making room for miracles
in the most unassuming moments.