Morning Benediction

The mountain holds its breath
before the morning breaks.
Then — dew.

Soft, unhurried, generous.
Falling on everything equally.
Not choosing where to land. This is what unity looks like.
Not loud. Not forced.
Just present —
like dew on the morning grass, like oil running down, anointing everything it touches.

Where people dwell together,
something is released.
Something that cannot be manufactured —
only received.

The blessing does not come from striving.
It descends.
Quiet, abundant, and right on time.