Before the next beginning
Sometimes the small quiet things are the most real of all
At times an immense sadness settles on me, at all that cannot be expressed, contained, known in all its fullness.
Moments come with such promise, such potential, then stutter to a halt, stillborn or unborn. Or not yet ready for birth.
In the moment, you don’t know: is this coming or going? Ending or beginning? Dying or developing into something viable a…