
Apricot Sunrise from our back deck
Welcome to new subscribers.
Thank you to all my readers.
Wishing you health, peace, and light in the new year.

Apricot Sunrise from our back deck
Welcome to new subscribers.
Thank you to all my readers.
Wishing you health, peace, and light in the new year.
To family, friends, followers, and earth people:
Sending warm wishes to all in the celebration of light,
however you illuminate the season.
With gratitude,
K.
As we turn toward the light
dreams drift away.
Mothers and fathers
so vivid in voice and gesture
return to the shadows.
As we turn toward the light
our senses awaken
to sleep-scented sheets.
Dawn slides from charcoal
to mauve to lilac.
As we turn toward the light,
clouds blush.
Our fingers curl, anticipate,
regret.
Branches etch an eggshell sky.
The square space encloses.
As we turn toward the light,
vision narrows to a point.
The wide, fulsome dark
of dreams and possibilities
retreats.
The hourglass flips.
By starlight, they fall asleep holding hands.
By moonlight, he frees one firefly caught between the glass door and the screen.
By lamplight, she reads while he holds her feet and asks, “What’s a four letter word for mixture?”
By candlelight, they heat water for washing on the gas stove.
By sunlight, they walk around the pond and stop to watch four goslings dozing.
By a red light, he says, “All clear on the right.”
By flashlight, she finds the missing puzzle piece under the couch.
By starlight, they fall asleep holding hands.
K.E.