the beginning of the journey
often seems futile.
absence of color
a dusty film covering the road.
black and white butterfly wings
reflecting nothing at all.
broken out of the cocoon
too soon for those wings to fly.
past leaves spilled into rivers
flowing away from here.
the color begins to blur
and blend into one.
passing fields of tiny budded stems
beginning to take bloom.
small bursts of brightness
timidly showing their face.
finding yourself in a place
of quiet resolve.
comfort found
and a place to come to rest.
