Among the stars, winged prayers are heard, though softly whispered in the quiet hours.

Quiet places calm fears that creep like icicles ever downward, wrapping themselves around the heart, surprising the fearless; autumn’s sweet scents evoke a taste of freedom not yet measured.

Quiet is the mind whose whisperings are softened by endeavors with all sincerity to be at peace with all creation.

Tribal lands forgo trappings of our time, and quiet canyons whisper the blessings of silence.

Trace the breath rising and falling in the morning hours when the world is quiet.

Quiet mornings measure the path we are walking, for the journey is long.

Riding the heights, serene and quiet beauty abounds and remembers love.