When time permits

Previously

…Elara carefully placed the acorn back in her pocket, next to the pages. She felt the warmth against her thigh, steady and patient. She looked up at the Old Oak, whose branches now seemed less like arms and more like fingers pointing at the stars. “When time permits,” she said, and this time, she understood. It wasn’t a limitation. It was an invitation to pay attention. She walked home with the poem still echoing in her mind, the acorn growing in her pocket, and the old man’s words settled in her chest like a second heartbeat. Tomorrow, she would write more. Tomorrow, she would share the poem with someone else. But tonight, she let the magic of the ordinary carry her, one step at a time.