HARMONY
The sky darkens to violet, folding itself over the city in measured intervals as if a hand unseen orchestrates its movement. Black and charcoal threads form circles within circles, a quiet rhythm pressed into silk, a song without sound. The pattern breathes, expanding and contracting, shifting only in the eye’s movement, never in its stillness.
An astronomer steps closer, tracing the edges, believing the stars had once arranged themselves in this very shape. A mathematician watches shadows settle against its form, knowing numbers had never spoken as clearly as these lines. A sculptor, hands dusted in stone, kneels beside the fabric, realizing symmetry does not require weight to hold itself together.
