Where the Stars Come Home 🌙

the sun spills gold on the edge of the land,
slow as a whisper, soft as a hand.
wheat fields breathe and lanterns gleam,
the world folds gently into a dream.

a mug of tea, a porch grown old,
blankets thick against the cold.
fireflies blink like sparks in prayer,
and starlight tangles in your hair.

no cars, no clocks, no glowing screens—
just owls, and winds, and drowsy dreams.
you sit and sip, the dark draws near,
and peace arrives like it’s lived here.