The swallows are singing, and their words are not news. It’s clear that they are right, and it will continue to be so as you transform all the way through the ocean. It does not stop until the trip has been made, and you certainly will make it.
I want to lean over the piano and sing a little louder to match the rate of their wings flying above the treeline, their ascent to my heart. It is a world of exhilaration, possibility.
What one absolutely needs is a cleansing soak in the endless promise. Thankfully, the ocean is full enough, deep enough.