The very beginning, barely beginning...
rocking toward the source.
One foot on either side of the precipice.
Invisible thresholds.
We are stepping over.
We are wading through.
Nothing stays the same.
An uneasy rite of passage.
Too many facets to count.
Unwinding as we reach the edge.
Then comes the bridge,
then comes the fuse.
Metamorphosis takes time,
time does not exist.
© Elizabeth McLaughlin