As the owl's eyes fold at dawn's emergence at the bounds of night just before the birth of day, the hands of the clock begin their pass between what was and what is to be. What has transpired has vanished. What is to come lies sealed. A cone of emergent beams authenticates an awakening world, invites passage to all that will be. In that instance, complete in itself, multiple doors open upon a slice of time. A neophyte, I bow before an infini te horizon, cross the threshold.