Quiet Harbor

a poem for calm

a short poem for ease and gentle breath

At the edge of morning, the sky opens slow,
steam curling from a cup that warms both hands.
A small bird writes a note across the light,
and the day remembers how to be kind.

You do not have to hurry the tide.
Let the water think its quiet thoughts,
let the shore take one soft step closer,
and breathe, the way pines breathe—patiently.

What matters returns in simple ways:
the hush after wind, the steadying chair,
the promise that ordinary hours
can still hold you, safe as home.

— © 2025