Brussels

Brussels welcomes you beneath a ceiling of autumn light, where oranges and patient greens sway like a friendly crowd. The sky steps aside and the street forgets its hurry. You listen as the leaves keep time with a quiet breeze, a rhythm that loosens the grip you did not notice in your shoulders.

You feel the season turn without fanfare. Change arrives like a favorite song heard from a doorway, easy and unforced, the kind that slows your pulse and steadies your breath. Branches share rumors with the wind and you borrow one for courage, a small promise that the next step will meet you halfway.

In this soft theater of air and color you remember patience. You are allowed to soften. You are allowed to begin again. The city nods and you nod back, warmed by a calm that feels like good stock on the stove, simple and true and exactly enough.

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