Open Water

The sun rises over the pond, still as a gentle hand.
The lilies drift, never in a hurry,
never caring where the wind will push them next.
They float, trusting the water to carry them.

A wheel turns on its own time,
slow, steady, patient.
It reminds me that chances often rise
the same way sunlight does.
Not loud. Not sudden.
Just sure.

Stones stand tall in the stillness,
weathered, but not worn out.
They face the day without fear
because the future is not a threat to them.
It is only the next moment of sky.

I breathe in, and something inside me loosens.
The world feels wide again.
Paths I cannot see yet are already forming.
The water reflects the trees,
but it also reflects the truth that waits for me.
Nothing stays still.
Everything moves toward becoming.

So I choose to meet what comes,
open as a leaf on the surface,
strong as a stone in the light,
and willing, always willing,
to let the next good thing find me.