Nace. It is Born.

Here I came to the very edge

where nothing at all needs saying,

everything is absorbed through water and the sea,

and the moon swam back,

its rays all silvered,

and time and again the darkness would be broken

by the crash of a wave,

and every day on the balcony of the sea,

wings open, fire is born,

and everything is blue again like morning.

--Pablo Neruda

That poem makes me feel like there's nothing to worry about. Those words: "wings open," "fire is born," "every day." I believe he's right.

Ever forward.

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