SIGNS OF CONNECTION

I don’t believe in signs as is often believed,
Not omens or whispers of fate’s decree.
I see them as messages, beautifully conceived,
Hints of connection, a silent symphony.

In the dance of leaves on an autumn day,
In the morning dew that kisses the grass,
In the gentle ripple of the river’s sway,
I find whispers of the past and future amassed.

The stars do not foretell what is to come,
But they wink with stories of ancient nights.
In their patterns, a web of secrets spun,
Threads of dreams and long-lost flights.

A bird’s song at dawn, a lover’s sigh,
These are not harbingers of what will be.
They are echoes of hearts, drawn nigh,
A testament to our shared reality.

For every sign is a note in a grand refrain,
A language of beauty, of soul, of light.
In their presence, we break from mundane,
Finding in the ordinary, a most profound delight.

So, let not the signs be seen as mere fate’s plan,
But as bridges in the silence, pure and true.
For in their whispers, we understand,
The news of connection, me to you.