Years That Ask, Years That Answer

Winter storm. Question marks fall like snow on shoulders bent with seeking. Hollow caverns where certainty once lived echo chambers of why. Face pressed against cold glass. Fingertips trace what cannot be grasped. Footsteps soft on unseen paths. Autumn leaves crumble in cupped palms. Dreams, half-formed, scatter like dust through fingers that cannot hold. Shell splits. Light finds the crack, makes home in broken space. Seeds in soil dark with surrender. Emptiness, the deepest cup. Time spirals. Winter storm, spring light dancers forever entwined. Seasons turn. Seeking becomes soil. Purpose in the endless round. Morning breaks endless night. Golden light spills through spaces carved by questions. Rain-clear words unfold. Dark landscapes reveal their faces. Stumbling was beauty. Coffee steams in morning cups. Mystery becomes the ground we stand on. Sacred spaces hold golden light poured by doubt's careful carving. We are spiral dancers: asking, answered, broken, filled, home.