Captured Moments

Lights behind glass:
Scenes presented, each mine for the taking if I choose to simply
Stop and look for a moment.
Fairy lights strung across a window, reflection of someone's small flight of fancy
The interior of a dining room all wood panels, red walls, and vintage chandelier giving away the age of this particular house.
Apartments only give away a glow of color, or in some cases the soft light of curtained interiors.
Some windows show black.
This person has plants, that one leaves the TV on when no one's in the room.
This room belongs to a child, the one above to adults: a family house.
Basement apartment: order on a small scale, bike propped against a wall, hatstand in the middle.
Small snippets, captured moments, windows meant for viewing: glass, after all, works both ways.

Sunday

After a week of clouds and heaviness, stepping outside this morning felt like heaven. Still cold, but the clean, snapping kind of cold that comes with the lingering breath of winter, not the sticky oppressiveness of a damp, 40 degree spring. A wind came through last night, and whisked aside any traces of moisture. Even this morning, we still felt the briskness, heating our cheeks and roughly slapping our chins with bouts of cold. Above our hatted heads, the sky seemed washed clean, taking up more space than allotted. It flew down between buildings and scraps of cloud, piggybacking on the wind, a force of depth as much as temperature. The sun glinted, stinging our eyes with a light as bright and cutting as ice. Even in winter, the sun can wound. Trailing tears of cold and light, we continued on our way, still aware of the vastness of the sky, falling away around our heads. We encountered a busy intersection, and paused. Almost unnoticed, we spiraled up and out of ourselves and flew with the clouds, skimming over previously unnoticed buildings and hidden rooftops. The world, for a moment, distilled, small crystalline images forming and melting quickly as snowflakes. When we touched down again, I looked at you and remembered sitting down here and now to write this, on this particular blustery Sunday, just one in a string of Sundays that connect our weeks. In a year, will you even remember?

Good Things

Morning sun, enough to take the edge off but
Will probably burn my face if I'm out all day.
Suddenly, spring seems within reach.
Good things are coming.

A good hair day, enough so hats
Aren't needed,
Warm enough to go without a scarf.
Good things are coming.

Meet up, new faces in familiar places
Old friends still at hand.
Across the bridge, adventure awaits.
Good things are coming.

Pick through old CD's, new music to my ears.
As reggae-dub plays over the radio,
I smile at the man behind the counter.
Good things are coming.

Too crowded for coffee, back to beat the streets.
Wrapped in the smell of warm pita, I take a bite.
Suddenly, everything feels perfect.
Good things are coming.

Tip my head up to catch the final rays of sun,
Back across the bridge towards home,
Where the downhill caresses my worn out knees.
Good things are coming.