Echoes of Light

By: An Observer on the Threshold

The edge of the year holds its breath—

a stillness where everything and nothing exists.

We step forward, not to arrive,

but to remember.

Time folds here,

like rivers bending into themselves,

like roots reaching deeper,

seeking the quiet hum of the unseen.

We carried weight this year.

Not burdens,

but the gravity of becoming—

ourselves, the work, the world.

Each ache, each stretch,

a seed cracking open,

a quiet alchemy in the dark.

Through this portal, we do not measure—

we do not stack accomplishments like stones

or label what is enough.

We listen to what lingers,

to what still pulses under the surface,

and we know: it is alive.

The solstice does not ask us to celebrate;

it asks us to see.

To see the spaces between light and shadow,

between grief and hope,

to know them as one continuous thread.

We are not who we were.

We are not yet who we will be.

But here, in this sacred pause,

we are everything we need to be.

And the sun rises again—

not to bless us,

but to witness us,

as we open,

as we carry forward

what can no longer be left behind.