Like standing at the edge of a precipice. Toes at the end of the road, peering down, leaning just a bit to see just how far down is. Imagining the jump, the fall, the flying part. Pulled by gravity, that great equalizer, dream killer, necessary rock, your pal for life or otherwise life would be in space...or no life. How well can you play with gravity on the ledge, teetering, deciding to leap, or maybe just backing up and going home? The Eve is the edge. Growing toward evening, leveling, toward the balanced mix between light and dark. On the Eve of a new revolve of the earth, now we start again...but first we have to jump into the dark new, into what we can only imagine but never ever never know until we're there landed next to gravity, our arms around each other like pals, meeting again in another new year after tipping over from the eve of the last.
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