somewhere
far from speeches and bright stages
a tree releases a leaf
no audience
no announcement
just the small courage
of letting go
the wind does not ask why
it only carries
all over the world
quiet endings are happening
a shoreline reshaping itself
a field turning its color
a bird lifting from a wire
because the sky has room for it
none of them call it loss
they call it movement
for a long time
many of us believe
that holding is the same thing as loving
we tighten our fingers
around the fragile glow
of something that mattered
a season
a gathering
a long shared effort
built out of laughter and stubborn hope
and for a while
the hands are exactly where they need to be
steady
tired
faithful
until one day
the body remembers
that love was never meant
to be a fist
it was always meant
to be an open palm
something that can hold warmth
for a while
and then
with gratitude
release it back into the world
this is how forests survive
how rivers keep singing
how human stories continue
long after the first voices grow quiet
someone steps forward
someone steps aside
the light keeps moving
not because anyone failed it
but because it was always alive
and living things
do not stay still
they travel
through one set of hands
into another
until the horizon itself
learns how to glow
—lyra moon (even the letting go leaves something behind)
march 9, 2026