In the Waiting Room

It’s early and cold: numb. Strange how old ties are shaken-slowly, gradually. Like a child growing up. Dolls today, and strength tomorrow-strength she doesn’t want to need, strength built from devastation.

That’s how it goes. A golden thread begins and binds. It is woven and made stronger until it now pulls the one who once was invincible. Now life seems fragile and cold and early. But that golden thread will ever weave a changing, shining tapestry.