Bright morning on the hill.
Light on the branches.
The buds hesitate
between sleep and speech.

Yet the heart
does not quiet.

Somewhere
beyond this field
the old argument continues—
war repeating itself
with tired certainty.

Many reasons have been spoken.
None have made it just.

Still the earth turns
in its ancient obedience.
Soil keeps faith with the seed.
A robin balances on the fence.
Wind passes through grass
without choosing a side.

Creation remembers
what we forget.

No hand in this honest soil
can bury violence
as one drops a stone
into deep water.

Peace moves otherwise—
not summoned,
not hurried.

She walks the longer road,
arriving only
when her hour
is full.

And yet—

the peach tree
knows something.

Without decree,
without permission,
it opens

petal
after petal—

each small pink
touching the heart
like a question

the world
has not answered.

by TaeHun Yoon
3/6/2026