Where we begin

Sometimes we simply have to begin

First, with space.

Then, with a sigh.

A word may be formed.

Then, another. A line perhaps?

Maybe a poem.

The sky opens the window
And in falls the winter
First beautiful, then worn
We quickly tire of what stays the same.
The autumn leaf is fraying;
It pardons itself and curls smaller and weaker
And so too do we sigh
and give up life for others.

And then it will move onto song. (Not, of course, placed here for pure embed testing purposes).

And then back into silence.