The sun gleams low
against the underside of clouds
gilding them as they drift, uncommitted,
above, among, the glinting city buildings

And it fills me with something —
not quite tears —
A gathering of clouds within,
which drift, also stunning,
low and gilded
through such a fleeting softness
of the day

The earth has turned
and days will now grow longer,
pulling us under the low points
through the mystery
into stronger light.

©Wendy Mulhern
December 24, 2013