2026-09-14 · theme: signal · alludes to John 7:38
A radio hums on the kitchen counter before the coffee is poured. Somewhere a tower leans into weather to keep its promise. I think of the well again, its patient dark, the bucket that forgot how to listen. Whatever runs beneath a life will find its way out through the hands. The morning does not shout. It taps, once, on the window. I sit. I let it in.
Composed today.