She reached out, compelled
to place her hand on the spinning wheel.
She trembled toward the blur,
despite the risk, she was unable to resist.
She stopped it on an arrow
whose two points of infinity
changed direction in the light,
no two rays the same color.
She drew back and it spun again
wildly as if it had never stopped.
She noticed the colors blending
but never overlapping the white between.
She looked around to see if anyone else
saw, or had seen the giant wheel
before her, spinning on its own accord
humming in its smooth momentum.
Alone and reckless,
she tried to touch it again,
this time to only grab the blue
but landed her hand on an arrow.
She knew the symbols well,
circles, arrows, points of interest, color codes
but could not decipher the definitions-
clearly, each stood for something.
She watched its speed grow
the longer she waited to ask again,
the more dangerous the choices became
even though they always stayed the same.
She closed her eyes and flung her weight
toward the wheel, groping for anything solid
finding herself on an arrow
not knowing how to hold on, she let go.
She watched the wheel whirl,
murmuring about momentum.
She heard one of the 64 arrows
call her name and whisper, The Way.
Image By Internet Archive Book Images [No restrictions], via Wikimedia Commons. East of the Sun West of the Moon, 1922.
