wind moving through the grass
The movement begins somewhere you cannot quite see.
A small shift, then a widening. The grass leaning, rising, leaning again. Nothing fixed, nothing held. The field responds without effort.
It passes through, not staying, not needing to.
There is a quiet sense here that not everything needs to be steadied or understood. Some things move through and leave something changed.
The landscape holds it all. The motion, and the stillness beneath it.
