The sky speaks in silences the soul understands.

In the delicate curve of the crescent moon, there are unspoken promises, whispers of eternity.

The colors that dance at dusk — orange, purple, gold — are brushstrokes of an invisible artist who needs no voice to touch the heart.

When the sun bids farewell behind the mountains, the world seems to hold its breath.

And in the instant the night opens like a veil, a comet streaks across infinity, reminding us that there is beauty even in transience.

The sky does not write with letters.

It writes with light, shadow, movement.

And whoever learns to read its silent verses discovers that there is poetry in every cloud, in every star, in every breath of the universe.

©️ Beatriz Esmer