Light

Painting (above) by Simon Pemberton

 

 

 

Light

 

I will not try to cheer you with the never-quite-night, bright Christmas light announced by the endless Christmas tunes in shops.

I will not say there is twinkling tinsel wrapped around branches to cheer you, or white crisp clear air, biting sharp in your throat. 

I will not describe the joy on children’s faces when the snow arrives, as they stoop to scoop large handfuls, gasping how cold it is, even though they know.

I will not tell you of the sun’s watery appearance Casting wide strias, across the sky: pale lemon,  grey, and rose, offering hope as it hovers, momentarily mocking through branches which winter has stripped most of life.

Stunned by the beauty of a single ray as it bounces bright white off the snow, I will not try to furnish your face with a smile, or a look of contentment.

But when from the dank darkness comes the promise of spring;  a  cerulean sky; the sound of bird song as they flap on fences, or porches to waken us from the  long, dark days and night,

I will knock at your door behind which you sit 

by the fire,

watching 

waiting.

Taking your hand , together we will go on in to the

light.

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