Light has been changing.
Days grow a little longer, one by one.
Sometimes there is color in the sky.
Sometimes there is color in the sun.
Sometimes it bleeds gray, drained of hue, drained of shade.
It’s hard to find much hope when we’re still in January.
Still, I follow the light. It shifts, it slides, it changes ever-so-slightly.
When the sky begins getting that Maxwell Parish glow, and the clouds look painted when the sun hits them in the afternoon, I know spring is on the way. Maybe not arriving tomorrow, maybe not next month, but not long thereafter.
