The Book of Light

These pages grew from quiet mornings,
seaside walks, and the kind of conversations that linger softly —
the ones that do not end, but drift into silence like light across linen.

There is no first page, no last.
Only the rhythm of returning:
a hand setting down a cup,
the after-breath,
a thought finding rest in the warmth it leaves behind.

When you reach the end,
begin again.
Light has been waiting for you.