Nothing looks different yet.
That’s the trick.
The dunes hold their breath,
grass bent low, roots busy with
decisions no one sees.
Below the sand,
things are loosening,
tight knots of habit
learning new shapes.
The tide doesn’t announce its labor.
It just keeps arriving,
wearing down what once felt permanent.
I used to think change required noise.
Declarations. Proof.
A before and after I could point to.
Now I’m learning
that the most important work
happens quietly,
while no one is watching,
especially me.