Mist
At first, our connections form a mist—
a gentle veil that hovers in the morning air,
soft and undefined, barely visible.
As we age, the mist becomes a sprinkle—
tiny droplets that ground us to earth,
each one a promise of something more.
Then the drizzle comes through,
a steady rhythm on the windowpane,
and on comes a thin continuous stream of interconnectedness,
weaving through the years like silver threads.




