Meridian

The sun breaks through the ridge like a memory becoming real. Shadows retreat beneath stones, their darkness pooling in the crease of the valley.

A cardinal calls once, then again— not singing yet, but asking the light if it will stay this time.

The city still sleeps below, unaware that the world has already changed shape, that somewhere north the day is already old.

We stand at the line where night surrenders, where the world divides into before and after, and for a moment we're both at once.

The air tastes like iron and green, like everything about to bloom, like nothing will ever be this quiet again.