Lyon

Lyon.

Above, a single white line crosses the day, the quick signature of a journey in progress. You feel your chest lift with it. The day carries a warm glow that loosens the shoulders and clears a path for a small brave thought. 

Movement high above, stillness all around. You ride the space between, a traveler light on baggage, tuned to the hush that follows a departing train. Here wonder arrives on schedule. 

You name it hope. You carry it forward through the streets, lighter than air and bright as the sky, certain that every journey begins with this simple act of looking up.