On a quiet lawn where sunlight breathes,
Two gentle wanderers bow to the earth,
Neck and feather in soft accord,
Writing silence across the green.

They do not hurry.
They do not speak.
Yet something passes between them—
A language older than wind.

The grass bends kindly beneath their steps,
Each blade a witness to their calm,
While shadows linger at their sides
Like memories that choose to stay.

Beyond them, the world stands still—
Walls, vines, and watchful trees—
But here, in this untroubled space,
Time loosens its careful grip.

And I, only passing,
Find myself quieter for having seen
Two souls in feathered form
Simply being—
Together,
And enough.