Maybe — Hive

The night folds softly over the quiet earth, carrying a hush that feels almost sacred. A single star trembles above the treetops as though unsure of its own brilliance. Wind drifts through the branches with the gentlest of secrets tucked beneath its breath. Somewhere in that silence, a small hope flickers, uncertain yet alive.

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Morning spills gold across the horizon, warming what the darkness left chilled.
Birdsong rises like a promise renewed by the first touch of light.
Shadows retreat, slipping behind stones and roots they once claimed.
The world exhales, remembering that it was built for brightness.

In the afternoon’s calm, the sky stretches wide, unburdened by any hurry.
Clouds drift lazily, shaping soft mountains and castles no one will ever enter.
A distant laughter echoes across the fields, carrying joy without explanation.
Time feels slower here, as though kindness has weight that steadies everything.

Dusk arrives with a blush of amber, and maybe it’s the hour when dreams feel closest.
The air cools, wrapping the world in a gentle reminder of endings that aren’t final.
Crickets gather their chorus, weaving music from the spaces between breaths.
Night returns, tender and patient, ready to hold every wandering thought once more.