That blessed happy medium where the pendulum gets to rest, to wait, to pause between the rising swell of inhale and that resultant rush of exhale to find peace again at the bottom. It’s the crisp glow of dawn, the muted tones of dusk, a place of progression, a stopgap en route to future tense. An inch or two away from ebb, and just falling short of flow, It prefers colour within the lines. It sounds like a hum, a…
