In the early morning light I slipped out with my camera, flip-flops on the wet grass. On this leaf, the rising sun hit the water drops on the knife’s edge—the drops themselves casting shadows, while the transparency of the leaf gleamed with capillarity.
Life is sometimes like the edge on this leaf. We don’t know which side holds the shadows, and which the sun’s refraction. The gap between front and back can be as thin as this leaf, as brief as a heart beat, or as ephermal as a change in emotion or perception.