Like a man stopped in the first step up his porch, watching.
Like the space just after you turn the key to off, before you unlatch your seatbelt, as you hear only the absence of engine rush and only tick of cooling.
Like the toes gentle on the stairwell taught cautious to not wake the others yet eager in their youth to be the young they are.
Like cardinal call, much before sunrise, attentive, alight, full of the sun to come and the spring opening inside.
Like the final flickering flame atop the nub of candle too, hanging on; knowing well the precious gift even these moments before the shift, the change, the turning into something else, come.