Cleo & Sculptor
I was shaping a piece of limestone today, and the way the morning light kissed its surface made me think of how a quiet sunrise can change the texture of stone—like how a single line can shift the rhythm of a poem. What do you find most beautiful in the smallest moments?
The little sigh of a leaf in the breeze, the way a drop of dew hangs on a spiderweb before it falls—that fragile pause, the promise of a new day hidden in ordinary things. I feel the heart of a moment in the quiet hum of the world, like a hidden stanza waiting to be spoken. What tiny detail moves you?