In looking up, I find myself looking within, falling backwards to that place in the heart forlorn and inexpressible that empties out in a breath, when the lilting wind touches my face or a leaf ballets down from above with such grace it leaves me in tears. The soul, minutiae as a grain of sand, can sense the ancient echo from the trunk of this soaring apex, spiraling downward to the bottomless roots on which I stand.
