Closing

A soft evening, and the page at rest.

Same desk at dusk: notebook closed, tea empty, linen curtains darkening. — Peace, completion, warmth, and quiet satisfaction.

Evening light on the same desk seen at the beginning, now dimmer, golden.
The notebook lies closed with a pencil atop it; the teacup empty.
Outside the window, dusk gathers in the linen folds.
The sense is completion, gratitude, and rest.

What was written no longer belongs to the hand.
It belongs to the hush that follows —
to the air that carries it onward, unseen.

And still, a trace of warmth remains,
as if the page itself remembers being touched.