Light Gathering, January

By Luci Shaw Yesterday the sky began to drop small handfuls of snow, randomly, like fine seed being scattered onto the rooftops to rumor some generous intent. Or like pinches of salt rubbed between bunched fingers to season the season. Crumbs of the white sky fall and fall like so much mercy, hushed and persistent, each crystal startled after the long descent, a glistening prism that rides down the window glass of the world on the sled of its own melting. Unexpectedly, the sun ignites the dust of fallen stars and folds a congregation of light into the half glass of water someone has left on the window sill. The eloquence of fire in the room, enameling the white wood and the pale wall and the back of one hand with fans and feathers of color so bright they’re unearthly. I think a thaw is beginning, and now I bless this afternoon for its golden drizzle, drops of it hanging radiantly from the dogwood’s naked branches as if everything, everything, is suspended in their dazzling lenses, the tears of the firmament caught and held in strings of small planets. ~~~~~ Next: Revival March