Under the Teacher’s Light

The moon knows where to find me.
It has watched me through every season of forgetting and returning.
Tonight, its light feels older than time—
soft enough to heal,
yet bright enough to reveal.

I stand between the seen and the unseen,
breathing with the earth,
listening for what stirs beyond language.
Some nights are not meant to be understood;
they are meant to be felt.

Tonight, the moon feels like a teacher—quiet, patient, and all-knowing. Its light settles over the farmhouse and the trees like a memory I didn’t know I still carried. The air hums with presence; even the silence feels awake.

There is something sacred about these moments when the world softens. The line between earth and sky blurs, and I can almost hear the space between heartbeats. The ground beneath me remembers; it hums with a pulse that recognizes my own.

In this light, I am reminded that learning doesn’t always happen in the noise of effort. Sometimes, it happens here—beneath a patient moon, in the company of stillness, where understanding arrives not in words, but in the quiet act of being.

With Grace & Ink,
Mai