Light in the Ordinary

The dust mote's journey through the kitchen window— each particle a small revolution, catching fire in the beam that knows no hurry.

What seemed gray yesterday now shimmers, geometry rendered in gold. The table remembers it is beautiful.

Even the crack in the wall holds light like a wound that refuses to close, like a story retold so many times it becomes its own history.

I will wake here, in this corner of ordinary, where shadows have learned to be patient, where nothing needs to mean more than the way morning arrives, willing and whole.