by M. Joseph Boehler

thin light lifts into day, a gentle breath of gold slipping through lingering chill,

frost clings to the air like a memory that refuses to fade.

i watch the morning stretch, aware that the same breath that warms the world also carries away what we hold dear;

a smile that lingers on a cheek, the quiet hum of leaves rustling in the wind, the ease of a daydream.

there is no grand proclamation, only the soft insistence of time;

it does not pause for a sunrise, for hesitation, for the spaces between thoughts.

so i hold the day in the hallow of my hand, feeling the cold dew settle on my palm,

letting each inhale become a deliberate gesture, each exhale a letting-go.

in this quiet exchange i find a rhythm, a reminder that the ordinary is already extraordinary when we choose to attend.

and as the sun climbs, lighting the world, i remain a witness, breathing,

letting the fleeting become the felt, the moment become the measure of living.

while a lone raven lifts, tracing the same thin light across the sky,

and i, a shadow of my own making, dissolve into being alive.

—

Author's Note: This poem is a reminder that our shadows: our thoughts, memories, and emotions, are both our own making and inevitable passages toward the ever-moving horizon.