The sun gleams low
against the undersides of low clouds
gilding them as they drift, uncommitted,
above, among, the glinting city buildings
And it fills me with something —
not quite tears —
A gathering of clouds within,
which drift, also stunning,
low and gilded,
through such a fleeting
softness of the day
The earth has turned
and days will now grow longer,
pulling us under the low points
through the mystery
into stronger light.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 24, 2013
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