Frassai

There is a moment before the moment. A blackbird singing three hours before dawn. The earth exhaling thirty seconds before the rain. One last step opening the summit of the path. Frassaï dwells there. When the air shifts and you are seconds away from knowing why. When the instant touches you with the whisper of a wing. When silence fills with something that has no name yet. Not places. Not dates. That instant. The one that precedes. The one that opens. The threshold.