the brilliant light of leaving

Leaving work this afternoon and it was as if we were all pilgrims headed for the heart of the sun. It was low and lit our passage towards it directly. Heads bowed, and eyes a-squint we shuffled, silhouettes all in the brilliant light leaving the day.

Arriving at our ferry crossing there was the markings of those who had been there before. Already gone into the soul of this sinking sun aflame, their scratchings but a solar memory.

So we waited, till the sun dipped lower in the skypool of blue and into a smudge of cloud. And our trance was weakened, in the dimming we were unshackled, set free to go our own ways home. Sun scratchings dazzling our retinas.

Advent : 8