With you I stand here, in the middle of a season.
It is spring.
A long, lingering spring.
Days of pure sun, with threats of cold returning.
With you, in the in-between.
This season floats in and out of greys.
For how long?
There is hope of summer, but for now—I feel the rain.
It rushes over me, and I will not seek cover.
I am true to the overflow of
these clouds-- they too have been floating.
And it is time—to pour forth in faith. To succomb.
To cascade from safe heights—into deeper unknowns.
Falling in the dark.
I would do that for you.
Can you feel me? I am scattered through the movements
Of your symphony.
And within the stanzas of my pages, there you are.
Holdin onto my reality, to our current, as a defense against my pride.
I will not push you away.