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.