<p>When I look at this cityscape, I see more than buildings. I see a whisper of my past — the years I worked and walked among the towers, shaping a life within their rhythm. The shimmer of plants speaks to resilience, to the quiet ways light endures. From this image came a deeper reflection, one that carried me beyond memory into the mystery that calls me home.</p><p>We each meet thresholds — not only crossings, but mirrors of who we have been and who we are becoming.</p><h2>The Threshold</h2><p>I find myself here, on the edge of yesterday and the shimmer of tomorrow.<br/>The city rises before me — not of stone, but of memory.<br/>Its windows breathe with echoes,<br/>whispers of the years when I worked and walked among the towers,<br/>part of their rhythm, part of their light.</p><p>Illumination gathers everywhere —<br/>in windows that gleam like portals,<br/>in plants shimmering with quiet resilience,<br/>in the subtle brilliance that hovers between what endures and what is becoming.</p><p>This threshold is my life:<br/>threads of ending and renewal,<br/>of remembering and unfolding.<br/>I am both the one who shaped pathways<br/>and the one woven of starlight.</p><p>And here, in this layered brilliance —<br/>celestial light rests on the towers,<br/>casting its quiet grace over all that has been built, all that still lingers.<br/>It reminds me of where I began —<br/>before time, before form —<br/>a spark flung into existence.</p><p>I was born of stardust, and through every passage crossed, its fire has never left me.</p><p>One day I will cross another sacred threshold,<br/>flow back into that infinite luminosity,<br/>not as an ending, but as a homecoming.</p><p style='font-style:italic;'>Laurel D. Rund</p>