Beneath a sky of yarn thick dreams,
where clouds curl soft as unsaid thoughts,
a village dozes in color drenched hush.
Windows blink slow in amber light,
trees breathe secrets through tangled threads,
and roofs wear the hush of undone chores.
Time forgets its ticking
no plans, no calls, just the hum
of stillness stitched into every hill.
Here, the world holds its breath,
in the sacred sigh
before the Monday comes
Made with love and wools
