Some days, peace doesn’t feel like silence — it feels like the pause between breaths, the way the light softens before it disappears.
Snoopy sits there, unbothered, as if the world never asked for anything more than a little wind and a patch of fallen leaves. I watch him and think about how calm can also be a kind of ache — the moment after something ends, but before it’s gone.
Maybe that’s what autumn is: the season that knows how to stay while it’s leaving.
Briseida Alcalá 