Today is my peaceful day.

Not because the world grew quiet.

It didn’t.

The traffic still hums,

notifications still blink,

someone somewhere is arguing about something that won’t matter in a year.

But I saw them once,

monks in simple robes,

walking mile after mile

as if each step were a prayer

laid gently on the spine of the earth.

They did not hurry.

They did not shout.

They did not try to conquer the road.

They just walked,

as if peace were not a destination

but a way of touching the ground.

Today, I borrow that rhythm.

I let my breath fall into step.

Inhale, one soft foot forward.

Exhale, another kindness offered

to a world that forgets itself.

The monks carried almost nothing.

A bowl.

A robe.

A silence so full

it felt like music.

I carry too much,

worries folded into my pockets,

regrets stitched into yesterday,

plans that clatter around tomorrow.

But today,

I set them down.

Today is my peaceful day.

I will walk slower than my fear.

I will speak softer than my anger.

I will listen longer than my impatience.

If a stray dog appears beside me,

I will call it companion.

If a stranger meets my eyes,

I will bow in the smallest invisible way.

The monks keep walking somewhere,

across deserts, across cities,

across the restless terrain of human hearts.

And here, in my kitchen,

on my street,

in the ordinary sacred stretch

between sunrise and sleep,

I walk too.

Step by gentle step.

Breath by merciful breath.

Today is my peaceful day.

And peace, like them,

is moving quietly forward.