The weeks around the winter solstice,
The baby awakes me every morning to a surprise.
The sky out the window glows pink and yellow.
I had always thought of the sunrise colors as
Stripes of variation, a magical combination of glory,
Until I read that the sun illuminates the
Underside of clouds.
Now the glory has vocabulary,
And I make sense of what I’m seeing.
But the sense has not destroyed the magic,
But enhanced it, as what I can see is lit
By what is yet hidden.
If I can stay abed long enough,
I can witness even the sun rising.
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