Wapun Meadow But before I can fly up

she didn’t stop hummin’ right away, but her ear flicked. not 'cause she was startled—she knew who it was before he even spoke, could feel the ache in his steps. the weight of grief had a way of carryin’ itself in the bones.
her voice trailed off gently as he came into view. the mountain wind caught it, carried it a little farther down the hollow where the trees stood still and listened. her pale eyes softened when they landed on him, not in surprise, but in a kind of quiet knowing.
eulie dawn, she corrected, kindly but firm, like a mother straightenin’ a collar. her smile was soft as thistle bloom. folk forget sometimes. but dawn’s part of me. always has been.
she shifted a bit, makin’ room if he wanted to sit, though she didn’t say so. didn’t need to. her voice was warm, rich with that drawl of the hills and hollers. i been the same as ever. pickin’ berries, singin’ to the creek, mindin’ the quiet. still got my bones, still got my voice. that’s more than most.
she paused, just a heartbeat. let the quiet settle again before tiltin’ her head just so. you look tired, dolce. like your soul been walkin’ farther than your feet. her gaze didn’t pry, but it saw too much to pretend otherwise. you hungry? a gentle offering—comfort wrapped in simple words.