Where Time Rests
Oil on canvas, marker on leaves, mixed media
2025
The veins of a leaf are nature’s memory.
They hold the trace of falling rain, the pause of wandering light, and the quiet breath of the turning seasons.
The web of neurons is the thinking of life.
It carries emotion and perception and shelters the fragile architecture of memory and consciousness.
These two structures seem to belong to different worlds, yet they speak to each other in silence.
The branching of a leaf resembles the pathways of thought.
The fleeting spark between neurons feels like branches stretching toward the sun.
Together they form a hidden dialogue that moves across time and across species, revealing the gentle mystery where life and wisdom meet.
In this collection of poems, I try to bring plants and humans into the same breath.
I read tree rings as another form of language, and I sense neurons as roots growing within us.
When we look at a plant, we are also looking back into the source of our own being.
The growth, unfolding, stillness, and renewal found in plants mirror the inner seasons of the human spirit.
These poems are the reflections I gathered from nature.
They are my response to the quiet structures that shape life.
I hope that as you read, you may find a path of resonance between language and the natural world and hear the silence of plants and the soft echo rising from the deepest part of life.

I. Depth
Root is a quiet branching
a gentle thinking in the dark.
It learns by touching,
by leaning into the earth’s slow pulse.
An unseen pattern of
holding and being held.
What rises is only the
soft echo of this
tenderness below.
III. Light
I lay in a quiet garden.
A tree stood beside me.
Light drifted through its leaves,
settling softly on my skin.
I breathed in its scent
A scent of warm sunlight
Of stillness.
And we moved
In the same gentle rhythm.
Life stretched outward,
Slowly,
As if it had just begun
To breathe.
II. Time
Memory settles in the rings.
Time holds itself in circles.
Tight.
Even.
Unspoken.
The tree carries its story
without the need for a witness.
Still,
Time leaves its trace
Quiet,
Yet clear.
On the cut surface,
Time opens
A story of the tree,
And of time itself:
What endures,
Simply Endures.


