in the bright morning when we hide the promise of day from the eyes of our children so they dont wake too soon too soon “they need their rest” but they also need the excitement the impending joy, nobody can cover up for long there will always be more sleep so why block the light? in the warm afternoon when we draw the shades so we can see the screen or finish the book like we’re finishing the day making cold the places we could be enjoying bringing night ever closer every closer to a cold and dark uncertainty “come inside, almost time for dinner” a tiny bit of expectation that hides things like bed and tidying up and no more sugar so why block the light? in the beautiful sunset when we’re already switching off already thinking of sweet oblivion already imagining the next day of taxing work, of tiring bills never thinking this could be the last this day could have been the best and the spots of orange and pink our trees let through could be the best last thing we’ll describe a day as yet we spent all day not being in it not giving it all for enjoyment and gently we go we go “tomorrow will be another day” but what if that is a lie? what if this light is all there is? to cherrish and be warm in to absorb and grow in the light that we all sometimes too often block