Late Sun

So much sunny stuff happening for me, with these late September, early October crisp mornings, hot days, cool nights, the inky newspaper news seems pushed to the edges of my mind, can't seem to focus on it all. I have better things to think about.

I pedal silently into the umbrage of green leaves on the bike path, wrapped and enraptured by a luxurious drapery of foliage, every green imaginable, from emeralds to sea grass to malachite to verdigris to viridian, a swirl of green tea in which I bathe my mind. Sun shards slice the canopy at perfect intervals.

The leaves are only starting to change and maybe this is why the trees show off their last ditch efforts at summer greenery.

And at home, in my sink, I look down to see a white porcelain bowl quietly full of hard-boiled eggs and splashy cold water cooling off -- white eggs, white bowl, white chinese china spoons -- with sun interrupting again. Brilliant bright light invading from my kitchen window. The scene is luminous in late afternoon sun.

And then evening comes and the sun is supine, flat on its back, but still slicing through my quiet rooms, finding me lighting candles on the dinner table. I'm grasping that last bit of daylight, taking a pinch of it like salt and adding it to my meal, lighting the charcoal wick, keeping the light burning through my meal, way past dark settling around my house like a blanket.

And later under my covers, you come to mind and I hold inside me one last remaining handful of that autumnal daylight, so I can't be sad or lonely or cold here late at night. My dreams are suffused with that shimmering brightness, strangely in my pitch black room. I'm left wondering, how did you do that? I want to know, how did this happen?