Threshold

The hinge of the year creaks open— heat pooling in stone corners, birds relearning their old routes through the changed air.

I watch the green deepen, each leaf a small confession, the way light finds new angles through branches still learning to trust.

There's an ache in becoming, the space between what was worn and what hasn't yet split, a breathing-in before the long bright.

Everything waits in this hinge, caught between the cool and the burning, learning to be both at once— the threshold and what passes through.