It's a new feather of hope;
Delicate, fragile, thin as ice;
It's the very beginning of the beginning,
The reward after all this time.
It's the fire in the flame,
The blue and white hidden amidst bright orange,
It's the space between sky and water,
The line we are almost never able to reach.
It's the split second between night and day,
Dark; then light before you know it,
It's the breeze from the clear, blue ocean,
The delicacy of it beautiful.
It's the process of making glass crystal,
Simple, complicated; but not without a beautiful result,
It's that simple moment of clarity;
That no words would ever come to mind for you to talk about.
It's that gentle, comfortably loving feeling,
That only so many people get,
It's the rarest, most beautifully crafted kind of thing,
Like the fur of a rare breed of animal,
The pattern of the fur; brindled.
It's beautiful, rare, and amazing;
It's the hope; of love, rekindled