The Singing Bowl at Dusk

We sit on the wooden deck as the last rays of sun fade behind the hills. The world has grown quiet, as if holding its breath before the dark arrives.

A friend of mine, serene and wordless, places a small brass bowl before us. She strikes it gently with a padded mallet.

The sound expands like light—clear, ringing, full of space.

We sit without movement. The bowl sings into the fading light, and then the sound begins to fade… and fade… and fade… until it is gone, and all that remains is the space it left behind.

She turns to me, finally, and says, “Even sound teaches us how to let go.”

We remain in that stillness long after the stars appear.