A lone bird wears the purple silk of the sunset sky.
Legend goes she keeps circling for centuries that cannot be counted.
A new mystic from the western seas arrived today. Drew a map to the beautiful castle within. Read a poem written by ancient landscapes.
Crescent moons—seven—rising
over my leafless trees,
record the hours without clocks.
I move barefoot between household and hermitage.
Vaishali Paliwal
November 23, 2025
Moonwater 