Praise the stepping stones! Simple, each notched and shaped with its own smooth surface. Laid for one purpose — to help us get to the other side. To balance delicately over the raging chaos. Monsters bark; still, praise the plank, several planks, foraged from the rough forest. They feel good to the feet. Everything old feels new, brought back from the brink. We’d been wandering, lost. We wouldn’t have lasted much longer.
The old not a destination, not an end game, not a savior. See it as an in-between. Horns honk, celebrations, rituals mark a passage. The in-between is always our place. Savor our own deep resources. Never should they be surrendered. We’ve taken the bridge from the abyss toward a resting place with a vision to the future.