Uncertain Light

Morning breaks through dense leaves, filtered gold catching on spider silk, and I understand how shadows prove the light.

We gather our small certainties— the weight of coffee cups, familiar routes traced by habit, but always the light changes, angles sharper or more forgiving than we remembered.

The world moves in increments we cannot quite perceive: a leaf yellows, a friend ages, the things we swore were permanent slip sideways into metaphor.

Yet in this slipping, there is something like grace— the knowledge that nothing holds except the holding itself, that our hands contain whatever brightness we allow.