Sandalwood

Sandalwood

it smells as if time were skin, warm, still, not to attract, but to let being exhale.

It does not bear a flower, it bears the memory of a whisper between fire and ashes.

Its vibration is not rising, it sinks, like a heart that finally stops waiting.

In the field it creates a stillness that is not empty, but filled with everything that no longer needs to be said.