the sweet edges of Sunday.
The kind light of the
first day of March
is stealing through the attic windows
as I enjoy the gift
I give to myself,
quiet solitude.
The days of this year
move on,
regardless of us.
I leave earlier than I need to
every day for work
just to see the shell pink dawn
bless that particular church spire I love.
I find such comfort
in that,
my ability to see the beauty in it all.
A gift no one ~
no one,
can steal from me.
The snowdrops in each day.
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Pretty misty stars