Introduction
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. We each meet thresholds — not only crossings, but mirrors of who we have been and who we are becoming. Laurel
The Threshold
I find myself here,
on the edge of yesterday
and the shimmer of tomorrow.
The city rises before me—
not of stone,
but of memory.
Its windows breathe with echoes,
whispers of the years
when I worked and walked among the towers,
part of their rhythm,
part of their light.
Illumination gathers everywhere—
in windows that gleam like portals,
in plants shimmering with quiet resilience,
in the subtle brilliance that hovers
between what endures
and what is becoming.
This threshold is my life:
threads of ending and renewal,
of remembering and unfolding.
I am both the one who shaped pathways
and the one woven of starlight.
And here, in this layered brilliance—
celestial light rests on the towers,
casting its quiet grace
over all that has been built,
all that still lingers.
It reminds me of where I began—
before time, before form—
a spark flung into existence.
I was born of stardust,
and through every passage crossed,
its fire has never left me.
One day I will cross another sacred threshold,
flow back into that infinite luminosity,
not as an ending,
but as a homecoming.
Laurel D. Rund
