In the bright sky of winter’s crispness, I find it difficult to breath.
It is not the blistering cold, nor the arid aroma…
It is the light.

I force myself to inhale, as I pace this path I’ve eroded so many days,
trying to clear my angst addled mind, which has emptied in my purposeful march.
It is the light.

The sun burns into my eyes with the fullness of all that is unknown,
an answer to a question or a prayer uttered far away and long ago, from the lips of someone unholy.
It is the light.

My heart swells, confused by the emptiness, and churning with love of the sun.
Love of the world. And love of everything in it. Even the dark.
It is the light.

All remnants of the bitter darkness that permeates my soul lie down,
basking in the grace of that which I don’t understand, and perhaps, don’t want to.
It is the light.

A breath of will. A sigh of hope. A soft, deliberate kiss of peace.
It is the pure and unexpected wish of a sad and broken spirit. A wish granted.
It is the light.

Let me share it with you, shining from the sun, stars, moon and street lamp.
It is not a miracle or even mystical. It is simple and pure.

It is the light.

My light.