8 of 8 — The First Light Again
In the winter of a life that has come full circle,
where endings have softened into understanding,
I find myself not at the edge—
but at a quiet return.
It is just before dawn,
that sacred hour where darkness loosens its hold,
and something unseen begins to breathe again.
The air is cold,
crisp and clean, untouched by noise,
a thin frost resting over everything—
not lifeless, just waiting.
This is the season of still beginnings,
where nothing rushes,
yet everything is preparing to rise.
My mind is open,
not filled, not empty—
but clear,
like a sky about to receive light.
My heart is open,
gentle and unguarded once more,
not because it has forgotten,
but because it has learned there is no need to close.
And my hands—
they are open,
not reaching, not releasing—
simply ready again,
as they were in the very first morning.
There is a quiet miracle here,
in this cold, silent hour—
that after all the seasons,
after all the holding and letting go,
something in me
is still willing to begin.
And as the first light breaks,
soft and certain,
I understand—
this was never an ending.
Only a return
to the openness
that started it all.
