November Days, We Spent More Time Inside — Image by kenne
. . . It is not the walls,
but what the walls remember—
voices layered like dust,
the scent of bread,
a name almost spoken.
We wander far to return
to what was waiting in silence,
a stillness that is neither beginning
nor end,
but the turning point
where time folds back on itself
and becomes familiar.
“Come in, she said
I’ll give shelter from the storm.”
— kenne
