I want to write of the light but I do not know whether words can illuminate the way it hangs upon branches and bird wings and broken things returning beings to beauty.
Can words spin substance from sunshine and decay? Can words cajole celebration from night-weary birds? Can words warm surfaces of stones and sorrows? Can words reveal rich-ness in mundane and battered things? I do not know.
But if we would write a tomorrow which is wider than wounds we have worn, we might wield words like benedictions and re-member blessings within brokenness, beginnings within endings, and beauty within all things.