Threshold of Glass

The pond holds its breath before dawn, a sheet of dark glass catching nothing. No bird disturbs it. The pines lean closer as if checking their own reflections.

I've forgotten how to be still like this— how to let silence settle like sediment, how to watch without needing to name what moves beneath the surface.

The water doesn't ask to be understood. It simply holds the sky and asks nothing in return, patient as stone, ancient as wanting.

When the sun comes, it will shatter. For now, we share this darkness, this perfect, unbroken mirror, before the world remembers itself.