2022-1004 Archives - The Arts Incubator

Light for the Sleeping The sky sings above those who sleep. The wind carries stories no longer spoken aloud. In this northern hush, every tilted cross is a line in a poem written by ancestors — not to be read, but to be felt. Nothing here is gone. Everything waits beneath snow, beneath stars, beneath the turning light.

The sky sings above those who sleep. The wind carries stories no longer spoken aloud. In this northern hush, every tilted cross is a line in a poem written by ancestors — not to be read, but to be felt. Nothing here is gone. Everything waits beneath snow, beneath stars, beneath the turning light.

Light for the Sleeping

Tony Eetak May 1, 2025

Weathered crosses rise from snowdrifts like prayers etched into wind, quietly watching the horizon. This is not...

Nature as an Architect Echo lines hum between silences; dew holds the static of a thousand unspoken mornings.

Nature as an Architect

Jamie Bell April 23, 2025

In the fragile lattice of morning light, the spider’s work stands as a monument to patience and...

Dew Code

Suspension theory: dreams cling to the tension between the known and the not-yet-touched.

Dew Code

Jamie Bell April 23, 2025

This spiderweb, soaked in dew and backlit by daybreak, could be mistaken for code—strings of logic floating...

Early Morning Fog Fog doesn’t erase, it distills. What remains in the hush is not absence, but a pause between stories. Trees lean like breathless witnesses, caught in the act of remembering. This isn’t mystery—it’s a threshold. You aren’t lost here; you’re being rewritten.