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From the ocean to the shore Some seasons don’t knock. They arrive like waves—quiet, steady. No grand entrance. No warning. Just suddenly, you’re standing in a new tide. A shift. Not loud. Not sharp. But deep. The kind of change where the world feels familiar — but somehow off. Clothes don’t fit quite right. Conversations drift. And the future feels like mist rising off the water. You’re still you , but not the same. Not who you were. Not yet who you’re becoming. That in-between space? It’s quiet. Unnamed. Sacred. Maybe something ended. A job. A relationship. A way of being. Or maybe it didn’t end—you just knew ."This isn’t it anymore." Transitions rarely ask permission. They just move—like the ocean. Disorienting. Honest.True. Yes, change can feel like loss. But it can also feel like an invitation: to let go of what no longer carries you; to listen for what does . So if you're here, somewhere between goodbye and becoming, let the tide take you. You’re not lost. You’re just in motion. Hold this moment gently. Something real is forming beneath the surface. You’re not starting over. You’re starting true. @piri2025

Rainbow Clouds Some days arrive like fog. You wake up wrapped in something slow and grey, and though the world hasn’t changed much, you move more softly, speak less, feel like staying in. Other days crash like summer storms—thunder in the chest, sudden downpours behind the eyes. No explanation. Just a clearing. Then come the bright, impossible days. Everything blooms. You speak freely, walk quickly, and remember your name with ease. You want to call someone. Start something. Say yes. And in between, there are the droughts. Long stretches of stillness, nothing growing, when the waiting feels like a second skin. When you wonder: is something wrong with me—or am I just in another season? Weather doesn’t ask permission. It moves. It shifts. It comes and goes. And maybe we’re not so different. Maybe our moods, our clarity, our capacity—are not signs of failure, but signs of weather passing through. So today, if you feel sunny, go outside. If you feel grey, stay warm. If something’s stirring in you like a gathering storm—listen. You don’t need to fix it. You only need to let it pass. The sky always clears. And so the weather inside us. @piri2025 #CloudyDaysSunnyMind #quietwild #InnerPeace #GentleReminders

Spring Cherry Blossom It's Spring today - the sun is warm, the breeze is gentle, and something in us feels quietly at ease. Not because something has been solved or fixed. Not because we've figured anything out. Just because it's Spring, the air smells like the beginning of something we haven't named yet. And for a moment, we forget to shrink. We don’t know when we started seeing ourselves as projects—Bodies to sculpt. Minds to silence. Souls to smooth into something easier to hold. We became puzzles to solve, blueprints to revise, stories that only made sense once trimmed, softened, and explained. We forgot that we were never meant to be tidy and never meant to be measured only in progress or polish. But today, something quieter speaks. It asks: What if none of us were ever broken? What if these bold hearts, these unruly thoughts, this wide, wild presence—were never meant to disappear? What if the breeze moves through the world for us too? Not because we earned it. Not because we learned to hide our rough edges. But simply because we exist. Because we’ve lived long enough to feel the light again. So we go outside.  Not to be seen, but to be here. We meet the world as we are. And the world, surprisingly, does not flinch. Some days don’t bring breakthroughs, simply remind us: We are allowed to be whole. We are allowed to be real. We are allowed to feel good, without needing a reason. And that might be enough. @piri2025

The wisdom of not knowing Some mornings I wake with a question instead of an answer.  No map. No arrival. Just the soft ache of not knowing. I used to believe uncertainty meant I was lost, unprepared, behind, and failing. I used to think clarity was the goal - that every path should unfold before me like a clean line. But now I wonder if it’s something else entirely. A threshold. A pause. A breath between what was and what will be.  Uncertainty asks me to live without guarantees, to trust the next step before the entire path unfolds. It can feel like standing on the edge of something without knowing how far the drop is.  There’s a kind of quiet honesty in not knowing. A moment where we’re not performing certainty or pretending to have a map. We’re simply here, breathing, listening for the next small signal.  I wonder if there’s a quiet kind of wisdom that takes root in this in-between, where we’re waiting, unsure and not quite there yet.  Maybe we don’t need all the answers. Maybe it’s enough to stay open, to let the questions shape us gently, instead of turning us to stone. Maybe we just need to stand here, quietly, in the middle of the maybe, and let that be enough, for now.  If you’re there now—wandering, wondering, feeling a little undone—you’re not lost. You’re simply in the part of the story where the answers haven’t been spoken yet. And that’s okay. They will, in time. Or maybe they won’t, and you’ll learn to walk with questions like old companions. @piri2025 #uncertainty #softthoughts #quietwisdom #inbetween #trusttheprocess #quietwild

The mountain stays still There's something humbling about a mountain that stands alone. Not part of a chain. Not among many. Just one rising silently from the flat, frozen earth. The ground is dry. Empty in places. But the sun is shining. The sky is vast. And there it is: the mountain. Not asking for attention. Not chasing the horizon. Just standing, rising, becoming. I took this photo a while ago, and now I wonder how many times we measure ourselves by speed. By movement. By visibility. But the mountain doesn't rush. It doesn't announce. And yet, it shapes the whole landscape just by being there. Lately, I've been feeling like the land. Flat, exposed, cold. Waiting for something to shift. But maybe the mountain in me is already forming, quietly, below the surface. Not asking for proof. Just rising. So today I don't force progress. I don't rush for meaning. I let the sun touch my skin, and I trust that even the most isolated landscapes hold something sacred. Stillness can be strength. And becoming doesn't always make a sound. #quietwild #becoming #innermountain #slowliving #softstrength  @piri2025

A seat no one noticed It was just there. A chair no one had moved in years, tucked under a tree no one names. I passed it a dozen times without seeing it. Until today. I stopped. Not because it called me. But because I needed somewhere to put my weight down and it let me. No questions. No expectations. Just space. Some days, I feel like that chair. Present, quiet, useful in ways that no one thanks. Not the center of the story. Not even in the background. Just... there. Still holding. Still waiting. Still offering a kind of comfort to those who are willing to sit, even briefly. We spend so much time trying to be seen. But maybe sacred things are the ones that see us first, without asking us to explain anything. That chair didn't need to know my name. It just gave me a place to pause, and in doing so, it reminded me: Even things that go unnoticed still hold value. Even me. @piri2025 #quietwild #softspaces #piri #unseenbeauty

The Ones Who Follow They passed in front of me like they had somewhere to be. Two ducks - one leading, one following. Pavement to the left. Grass to the right. And them, walking the line between both, as if unsure of where they belong. The one in the front was smooth, shining - the kind people stop to admire. The one behind? Awkward feathers, brownish streaked. Not beautiful. Not graceful. But devoted. Following not because she had to... but because she didn't know another way to walk. I watched them and felt something shifting inside me. Maybe because I know what it's like to walk behind. To compare my softness to someone else's shine. To feel like the world sees beauty in others, but quiets when I arrive. To wonder: "If I keep walking like this, will I ever be enough to walk ahead?" But maybe she wasn't behind at all. Maybe she was just choosing her own rhythm. Maybe her love was not weakness but loyalty. And maybe... She was never meant to walk alone, but also never meant to disappear in someone else's shadow. We all have a duck inside us, don't we? The one who's not quiet elegant enough. Not celebrated. Not chased. Just... walking. Just...hoping. Just.. being. And sometimes, being seen-even for a moment-is the beginning of finding our path. Do you ever feel like the one behind? The one watching, the one hoping? What if following isn't about being less, but about learning the weight of your steps? Maybe you were never lost. Just...becoming. #quietwild #belonging #softpower

Leaving Quietly There is something about the way birds leave. No announcement. No apology. Just wings. Today, I watched a pigeon rise from the edge of an old building—the kind of place that has seen too much to hold anything. The bird didn't hesitate; it simply left. It didn't ask if it was the right time. It didn't wait for the wind to soften. It flew because it could. And maybe that's what I'm learning. That not every ending needs to be explained. That sometimes is enough to know that this place no longer holds me. We hold on to old mental, emotional, and relational structures because we think we owe them something. We confuse memory with home. Home is anywhere you soften and expand. That bird reminded me: Freedom doesn't always roar. Sometimes, it's a quiet lift, just enough to lift what's been weighing you down. What old place - inside or outside - are you quietly outgrowing? @piri #leavingquietly #becoming #quietwild #softpower #piriwrites

Stealthy escape I've been thinking about the ways we leave things behind. Not the dramatic exits, not the slamming doors. But the soft, gentle, silent kind. Like the way a black cat slips out of a plastic bag - no struggle, no sound, no explanation. Just gone... We don't always announce our freedom. Sometimes we outgrow without noise. Sometimes the thing that once felt like shelter - a job, a role, a relationship, a way of being - starts to feel crinkly and tight. Artificial. Loud in the wrong places. It doesn't breathe with us anymore. We try to stay polite inside it. We try to make it feel okay again. We even convince ourselves it's not that bad. Until one day... We move toward the light without warning. Not because we're angry. But because we've one pretending. That's what I saw in the black cat in the picture. No panic. No drama. Just instinct. An ordinary act of sovereignty. And maybe that's how we begin. Not by burning everything down. But by listening to the whisper: This no longer holds me And then we slip away. Not to escape life, but to return to it. If you're in something that doesn't breathe with you anymore, this is your sign: you don't owe the old you an explanation. You only owe yourself the freedom to move again. @piri

I used to think I was always waiting. Waiting for others to reply.  Waiting for the right job, the right sign, the right shape of myself. Waiting for life to give me permission. And while I waited, I twisted myself into silence, smaller, sweeter, safer.
 I called it patience.  But now I know - it was fear dressed in stillness.
 Then something shifted. It did not arrive like thunder. It came like a lioness in the sun - quiet, sure, already there. I saw her in a vision: calm, strong, without proving it.
 She wasn't chasing anything.
She wasn't performing.
She was present. Powerful. At ease in her body, in her place.

 That's who I've been becoming.
And now I write from that space.
Not to teach, or explain, or impress.
To remind myself that I no longer have to shrink to be safe.
I no longer have to wait to be worthy.

 @piri