After all the hours of snow, the effort (is it an effort?) of the sky, three days of warm weather. This morning's the snow's in retreat--rain pitted, and under where the snow's melting, fists of ice the sun ignites into white gems flashing. Long black shadows on the gnarly snow-covered lawns. Try hard enough, get quiet enough and you can feel the snow tightening up, shrinking.

Bright sun on the houses--our attention shifts back to us, our errands, appointments, the small things we love--the light through that window, its shadow on the wall; the sun on the lace curtain making it glow white; the endearing, never-thought-about details of wood and light, cotton and cushions, the heart's hardly-registered delight that the book is just where we left it.
Allan DiBiase
3/9/2013 04:08:04 am

sunlight marches through the house
the cat knows with unerring precision
its position


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