The Threshold

Morning light catches on the edge of silence— a hummingbird pauses between two blooms, wings invisible with speed.

We are like this, suspended in the space between what we were and what we're becoming, the motion too fast to see.

In that stillness, there is a song. Not the song of arrival, but the song of the threshold, where anything might land.

The light knows it. The bird knows it. We are always leaving and always arriving in the same breath.