Thin and pale
at morning,
like water
from melted ice
pooled along the walk.
How possible
that there is warmth
in this?
Growing in strength
throughout the day,
pouring through the window,
leading me to bask
and drowse
in focused heat.
Now strobing
through trees
on my afternoon drive,
this light strangely sharpened
in its daily course
toward night.
Susan Dean Wessells
Filed under: Guest Submission, Poetry Tagged: guest submission, poem, poetry, Sunshine, Susan Dean Wessells, Winter, Winter Sunlight
