We Are All the Light

 

Where It All Began

In a quiet suburb, the hiss of the steam and swish of the white mist has faded from the gratings that lined concrete streets. Instead of looming towers of steel, and the rustle of the wind in Central Park trees, the straggling blackness of worn oaks scratch against white skies. It is wintertime in the country, and the only mist here is the smoke from chimneys and the warm breath from the vents of dryers. 

Perched in a gable window, a reader fell down the rabbit hole of fantasy, by grasping the hand of another who offered them the glimmer of hope that dreaming would bring, and they left the cold and barren farmland and stepped into the galvanized entrance of a place known only in dreams and fairytales. 

The sounds that rang in the newcomers ears were like none they had ever experienced before. The rumbling of a subway train in the distance, the hissing of air through ancient steam pipes, and a faint melodic tapping - they all sang the song of something that was bigger than imagination alone. 

With the encouragement of another, that reader found themselves in the middle of a place that beckoned hope and beauty even in the middle of such a barren-appearing environment. 
The reader never looked back. 

We are all one body, one creation. We are all pieces of a giant puzzle, built by time. Some pieces may feel as if they do not fit with any of the others, but never fear, they all find their place eventually.