Morning entered quietly
through my window,
laying a shaft of sunlight
across the wooden floor.

There, where I might have seen
only light, dust appeared—
small wanderers
turning in the bright air,
rising when nothing
seemed to summon them,
falling without complaint,
then rising again.

In the invisible breath
of the house
these tiny particles owned nothing,
not even the direction or distance
of their flight.
Yet they answered the slightest breeze
with their whole being—
bits of soil, cloth, and ash,
fragments of countless lives—
as if surrender were not
the end of motion
but the beginning.

I wondered if that was the secret:

to meet what comes,

to enter the light
when it finds you,

to yield yourself
to the unseen hand
that has carried you
all along.

For Ragtag Daily Prompt Tuesday: Distance