on the cusp of the new, swing of the pendulum, tick of the clock, passing of a day, is the cycle in flux, unending motion, like the escalator which in its slow descent instills a mix of fear and anticipation. 12.31.17
day 364
if i teeter shall i fall or will the earth open up to cradle me? is it safe to recline in the belly of my intuition while the sirens wail and the clouds darken? answers are not yet ripe, they must simmer over time until crystal clear. 12.30.17 [Image Source]
day 363
i arrive at the gateway of new information both confident and trepidatious trying to maintain the ease of a flowing river which bends around the protruding rocks. 12.29.17
day 362
days of pen scratching paper, words spilled onto the page thoughts and musings mutating over the course of my creative year. 12.28.17
day 361
rouse to restore align to balance breathe to release my preconceptions from this moment on 12.27.17
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