The Cusp of Unknown

Notes from the Hollow Bone | entry thirty-two 

Today feels like standing at a threshold I didn’t plan for but somehow needed.
I’ve left the quiet edges of farm life—those soft, patient mornings that held me—
and now I’m in motion again, carried by skies I don’t yet know
and roads that will take me farther before they settle under my feet.

There’s no map for this kind of shift,
only the trust that the next place will reveal itself
at the exact moment I’m meant to arrive.

And yet… gratitude rises.

Not because life is perfect (it isn’t).
Not because the future is clear (it’s not).
But because there is something sacred
in realizing I am still capable
of being present
even in uncertainty.

I am thankful that I can soften instead of fear,
that I can stay humble in the unraveling,
that I can choose kindness while life rearranges itself around me.
I am thankful for the breath that anchors,
the faith that lifts,
and the quiet whisper that says —
You are exactly where you need to be,
even if you don’t yet know why.

The Cusp of Unknown

Between the leaving and the stay,
the heart relearns its sacred way.
And still the dawn, in gentle tone,
reminds me I’m not walking alone.

Though shadows blur the steps I take,
my faith remembers what won’t break.
For every path that shifts or bends,
the unseen mercy still attends.

With Grace & Ink,

Mai