There is a hush between shadowed cliffs,
A tremor in the silence beneath.
But fear does not bloom here—
not when your steps thrum steady beside mine.
The air breathes its heat, thick and stale,
Yet my chest stays light, my spirit unshaken.
Your hand, an anchor, a guide, a beating heart,
shows me where the ground remains firm.
Even the hollows, where cries might echo,
become just another rhythm of passing.
Your shepherd’s crook arcs like a promise,
its curve steady against the trembling dusk.
I follow its gentle persuasion,
its certainty brushing against my uncertainty.
Here, the valley feels more like a question,
and you—an answer, whispered in trust.
This path is no longer a threat,
but a bridge across the crumbling world.
After all, death only shadows valleys—
It cannot plant its roots where we walk.