When the Fields Fall Asleep🌾

The sun bows low to the arms of the hills,
dragging streaks of honey and violet
across a sky that yawns with quiet.
The day exhales.
And the earth listens.

You walk the worn dirt path,
boots brushing the edges of wild thyme,
past fences with leaning posts
and wildflowers drunk on the last light.
Cicadas sing their lullaby in the distance,
steady as the beating of a tired heart.

The cottage waits, wrapped in ivy and memory.
Its stones warm from the long day’s kiss,
its windows glowing soft with amber light
like open palms saying,
“Come home now.”

Inside, time moves differently—
the kettle hums an old song,
books rest like sleeping animals on crooked shelves,
and every shadow is kind.
You wrap yourself in a blanket that smells of firewood and rain,
grab the chipped mug from the counter,
steam curling like a spirit in the air.
Lavender, lemon balm.
Peace, poured hot.

Outside, the world has changed.
The fields wear a robe of blue now,
and the sky spills open—
a thousand stars waking from their nests.
The moon, round and tender,
spreads milk across the hills.

Crickets take up their instruments.
An owl drifts silent over the trees.
The fireflies rise like forgotten wishes,
blinking in code.
Even the air feels sacred—
cool and mossy, touched by dreams.

You settle into the porch chair,
wood creaking like it remembers your weight from other summers.
The dog curls at your feet,
a guardian of silence.
You sip slow.
You breathe slower.

Nothing rushes here.
Even your thoughts begin to walk instead of run.

And in that moment—
with the night draped soft across your shoulders
and the stars kissing your skin—
you remember what it means
to just be

by Onnaya 🌙