The sun drops low and everything softens.
Light slants gold through the canopy.
Birds sing like they're calling something home.
You press your palm to bark and feel the hum of something ancient.
The tree holds centuries. You hold this breath.
Nothing is asked of you here.
No proof. No capture. No story for later.
Just stand where the glow can find you.
Let it pass through without grasping.
The door opens briefly.
The wise ones simply walk through.