Where Light Rises

Still Alight

She stands where the path breaks open
and runs like molten gold through the stone.

The sun lowers slowly behind the mountains,
pouring its last light into the valley.

No ceremony.
No witness
but the wind
and the long quiet of evening.

Her hair lifts in the warm air.
The dress gathers the fading light,
each thin thread catching a small ember of day.

For a moment she does nothing
but stand there
and look.

And the path answers.

Not loudly—
only a thin seam of brightness
moving through the rock
as though the earth remembers
how to carry fire.

The mountains darken.
The sky softens.

But the light beneath her feet
does not disappear.

It keeps traveling
slow and steady through the valley,

a quiet reminder
that even broken ground
can still hold the sun.

Still alight.