Outside, the sun is shining.
The light is slanting low across the landscape,
Glancing off ivy leaves,
Lancing long sharp shadows
Across bright green fields of winter wheat.
Black snaggled trees stand out against a veiled blue sky.
There are photos to be taken, errands to be run,
Words to be spoken, fat to be burned.
Inside, the sun is shining,
Through the window and the cutout leaves and vermilion petals of the windowsill geraniums,
Filling the room.
I lay my head down on a pile of books and magazines,
Feel the weight of my stomach
And the affectionate, indulgent warmth of the sun
Soak through the pores of my cheek and temple.
My thoughts fragment and glitter into a doze...
(I suppose it's OK everyone seeing how dirty our windows are... they aren't quite as bad as they look, trick of the light...)
ma guenille - mis harapos
1 hour ago