The Slant of the Winter Sun
Winter mornings are glorious. If only we get to see them.
The winter sun is slanting into my backyard
and it is up for grabs.
It is a tease, filled with promise,
determined to show the promise in everything.
It fills dark corners with light
and seeks to cajole closed souls
to blossom out of their cleaved buds.
.
Much of the world has dug deep
into the quilty warmth of bodies,
wishing the winter to find its way away,
and let sleep wrap them in its insidious ways.
And the glory of sun lies lost outside,
wasted in lighting corner dustbins,
and nooks
where spiders glisten as anointed lures.
.
But I have come out, unafraid,
and like any deed done with boldness,
feed into the uncertainties of the morning -
I know the sly grace of the universe,
and step into the pillars of golden light.
.
I close my eyes
as the season's splendor touches my skin,
and the sunrays dig deep into my being
and find a permanent home inside.
Winter mornings are glorious. If only we get to see them.
Ensconced in our blankets, our bodies held in the warmth of other bodies, the seduction of status quo is overwhelming. But there's too much which is lost even as we gain in our winter sleep.
The winter chill is just a presence, benign, expected, there. Nothing can match the sudden bite of it's wind, the cold regality of things in a state of temporary rigor mortis, the infinitesimal beauty of a dewdrop freezing in its track - and how everything dissolves in front of our eyes as the sun rises. For embedded deep beyond in its cold touch, is the magic of it's warmth.
The winter sun often feels like a touch, evanescent, too gentle for a cruel world, too soft for impact, too fleeting to lay a mark. But it has magic. It's presence is alchemy. Everything opens up to it, everything raises its face to it, eyes closed, trusting it for rejuvenation, resurrection.
It floods the world quickly, looking in askance where it can't reach, lying silently beside dark corners to let them know it's here, coming as hope to those clenched deep into themselves.
Like love, it's presence is more consequential than its persistence.
The poem is recited with some gorgeous music. Hear it here!!
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Very well written ❤️ ahhh how I wish I wasn't this lazy to wake up in the winter mornings! Like you said "Ensconced in our blankets" .... But your words are so gorgeous, like I almost felt it.
Absolutely wonderful... So evocative!