If we root deep into wonder what do we find? Digging through the detritus, can we allow the seed to unfurl its etiolated form?

In the cocoon of the womb it is eternally winter until the spark of wonder ignites the growth of potential. Where can I go from here, the seed asks. What exists beyond the darkened embrace of holding?

I have been sitting long with potential. Inside the womb I stir its seeds. For decades, or perhaps a lifetime and more, I have been adding seeds, so many seeds. They pile upon each other, waiting to be sowed into their own pockets of humus. Grow me! I hear their voices, near pleading. It is time.

Yet time keeps its own clock, and here in the slow breath of winter I find wonder daring to defy the cold seconds of stasis. Who says movement needs the spark of spring? Wonder asks me to figure out the mechanisms of trust. It asks me who holds the pendulum from swinging and who releases it?

The chimera of the imagination showcases its magic with ease. Look! It shouts. Can you believe me?

I have catalogued and filed all the forms I can capture. “You could belong here.” I play with a plot of reality. “And you here.” “What if we wove you together? What might grow out of this union?”

And as I play in this liminal space I find myself dancing beyond the boundaries. Pushing through the compacted surface, I stretch the daring tendrils of this life I want to nourish and show them the light to have a look around. “What do you think?” I ask them. “Can we dance together in the sun?”