Rest Now

There are evenings when the body forgets
how to be held by the world.

The mind hums too loudly,
every thought arriving sharp against the tender parts of you.

And still,
some quiet part remains.

Not the part that performs strength
or carries tomorrow before it arrives.

I mean the deeper thing.
The wildflower self.
The river stone self.
The self that does not need to earn rest
to deserve it.

Tonight,
let the day loosen around you.

Let your name become something gentle again.
A peach warmed on a windowsill.
A linen curtain drifting in summer air.
Late sunlight spilling across wooden floors.

You do not need to carry every worried thought
into tomorrow.

Some things can rest now.

The sun is lowering itself carefully behind the hills,
turning the whole world softer as it goes.

Nothing in nature rushes this part.

The ocean does not apologize for its tides.
The trees do not force fruit before season.
Even the sky knows how to let go of brightness
without fear.

There is wisdom in softening.

There is holiness in unclenching.

Feel how the warm air wraps around you completely.
No demands.
No conditions.

You can melt now.

Become sunlight resting on lake water.
Become warm earth after rain.
Become the last golden light stretching across the horizon
before evening gathers everything gently home.