The light at dusk spills through our bedroom blinds, yellowed as the faded cotton of a vintage quilt. And there is dust. Copious dust, clinging to the blinds. The scent of freshly laundered clothes drapes like a curtain in the doorway. A red hummingbird feeder hangs from a copper chain outside the window. Feathered neighbors zip in and out, pausing, sipping, chittering, diving. Green and brown silhouettes against a backdrop of golden light.
It is the same light and it is never the same, each day a few breaths shorter. And these are the same birds, as much as I am the same, as yesterday, each of us several thousand breaths older. Together we inhabit this little slice of same, under an awning of rotting wood and concrete, beside a hanging basket of dying geraniums and a sycamore swaying in the breeze, on the corner of York Road South, on this ever-revolving, ancient earth we call home.
Linking up with Five-minute Friday, to the prompt of "Same."
Beautiful. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the visit :-)
DeleteI love the imagery here. It makes me think of all the times I used to sit in the guest room on my grandma's farm, watching the light play over the floor in patterns that were the same and yet not. Blessings to you!
ReplyDeleteWhat a gorgeous memory to hold. I love it. Thank you for the kind words.
DeleteLovely, poetic imagery. Even without the photos, I could picture your surroundings. Sometimes I forget to celebrate the *same* in life. Thank you for reminding me that there is beauty in the familiar...
ReplyDeleteGOD BLESS!