It’s a pocket of sunlight

through an old, weathered window,

dappling warm and inviting on the bedspread,

an easy place to spend a waking dream.

It’s a storm at night,

rumbling thunder singing low and captivating,

as the pitter patter of the rain

echoes in the dancing shadows on the wall.

It’s a warm winter morning

with glittering snow between the trees,

the dusting of white lustrous and fresh

burying the secrets

of all the days before it.