Leaving the days very short,
the nights long, cold and dark,
when fever and death do run,
misery leaving its devilish mark.

But while the darkness,
speaks of coming doom,
light reaches every room.

At certain parts of the day,
like peeking through windows,
for a first and very short stay.

For the artist's delight,
casts light and shadows,
on still life just right.

Emblazoning woodsmoke,
and dust motes afloat,
aerial magic nature wrote.

Imaginary kingdoms in the air,
dispersing winter doldrums,
from sickbed sight debonair.

So quickly magic light wanes,
shadows grow once more,
into the long dark night again,
and misery returns like before.

While artists make use of low winter light like
this, those in sick beds like so many with one
form of coronavirus or another, watching the
light move across the room is all they can do for a
short time every day when it peeks through their windows.

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Copyright 2021 © Ronald W. Hull

12/23/21

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