June asks nothing of you . . .

Inward, June

You can feel it—

not a roar,

but a turning.

The hush beneath the hum.

A quiet pulse that says:

slow down.

The season folds in on itself,

like hands drawn to prayer,

or petals before the rain.

Your senses stir,

not from without,

but from within.

Emotions swell like tide—

not chaos, but clarity.

Your heart, no longer whispering,

has begun to speak.

There is wisdom now

in the things you almost missed—

a breath held too long,

a tear you finally let fall,

a memory that chose this moment

to surface.

This is not the time

for climbing the next hill,

not yet.

This is the hour of anchoring,

of remembering who you were

before the noise,

before the chase.

June asks nothing of you

but presence.

Let the air soften your shoulders.

Let the stillness break the lock.

Let the unseen roots

remind you—you were never lost.

You were always becoming.

The path forward

begins in the center,

where the real you waits,

not to be found,

but to be felt.