The air
is woven
from a thousand forgotten breaths.

A hush settles,
not empty,
but heavy with the weight of years.

Stone remembers every footfall,
bark holds a history of seasons,
pages sigh with stories
whispered by long-gone hands.

You stand on a threshold
where time itself thins,
a small echo in a grand
and slow-beating heart.

A humbling stillness,
a quiet resonance,
and a faint, sweet ache
of belonging to something
infinitely larger than yourself.