I didn’t know how to take the first step.

I paused.

Stepped away like a skittish deer startled by a sound
she could not fully place.
Looked behind me,
in front of me,
measured the endless possibilities of tomorrow
against the long shadows of my yesterdays.

Something within me rattled then.
A low sound,
like hooves beneath frozen ground.

I followed it inward,
down through the spinning branches of thought,
down to the quiet strength inside my feet,
standing solid upon the ground of now.

And there,
before the tides of what if
could wash the world blurry again,
I reached into that rooted breath.

That steadiness.

Then... 
I leapt with her.

She leapt the backyard fence,
muscles gathering like riverstones beneath fur,
and I across the fence of old stories
once painted across my own hazy skies.

Landing in a place I almost recognize.
A place where the wind still moves,
and I remain.