The Open Year · Album · Track 2
5 Aug 2026 · 3:48 · 137 plays
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Lyrics
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Every gust used to be a message.
We flinched at moving air.
The pipe rode in on any breeze it liked
and we called the flinching peace.
It took a season not to listen for it.
Another not to miss it.
What does the wind carry now?
Rain that's coming. Birds going home.
Your voice from across the field,
saying my name for no reason at all.
Nothing is hiding in it anymore.
Just weather. Just us.
The first time it came up empty
I stood still for an hour.
Waiting is a shape the body keeps
long after the thing it waited for.
Now the tall grass leans and rights itself
and means exactly that.
Your voice from across the field.
Just weather.
Just us.
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