“Every ending leans into a beginning, though the shape of it waits in silence.”

The week left its imprint across the cove, circles spreading on the water, shadows stretching thin, storms remembered in silence, and the quiet work of rebuilding. Each day felt like an echo of the one before, carrying truths further than anyone expected.

The voices of summer gatherings have dimmed. Lawns trimmed, boats pulled in, jet skis gone silent. Even in stillness, the air has its own weight, thick with the unspoken, alive with the sense that something always waits at the edge.

Every ripple, every whisper, every shadow was part of a larger story unfolding, not yet finished. And though the week has closed, the echoes remain, pressed into the silence, reminding us that waiting is never empty, it is a prelude.

Circles widen, shadows stay,

storms retreat, yet truths delay.

Rebuilding hums in quiet tones,

stillness breathes through broken stones.

The week has passed, yet nothing ends,

silence bends, and silence sends.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-

And as the veil of summer falls, the question lingers, when the next season rises, will it bring rest, or reveal what silence has been holding back?