In these times when light is mostly shrouded
(rain and fog and thick, low-lurking clouds)
We see no change, no movement of the seasons
No shadows marking progress on the dial
Till, on a day like this
Where some incalculable hand
has parted all the shrouds, so we can see
the sun, serene, in clear, surreal cerulean
And every limb, love-touched, in basking gleam
And know our land is turning toward the springtime
Her face receiving now, in every day
A bit more light, more ease,
More time to stretch out
In life-embracing welcome
Warm against the longer glowing sky.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 20, 2013
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