There is a line of sunlight in the crack below this door.
Where specks of gold glitter my shoulders,
Where buttercups bud
after a season “cut-back” and tucked away.
There is vastness.
It stretches wide with my arms and I stand still in the middle.
There is newness.
Like a baby’s first cry, setting sail to a lifetime.
sighing, laughing, blooming.
Like being the first to hear it.
There is beginning.
Today I let the sun back in.
I rinsed my hands of it — of a life spent glued to the rearview.
At last, I let the bright white warmth swallow me whole.
There is hopefulness.
