The Wrong Window

      When I wrote this it was winter and a glimpse of the sun was a rare pleasure. It is now summer and the glare of the sun can be a real pain. The main reason I did not post this at the time is because I could not come up with a title. Then, in a senior moment that lasted months, I forgot all about it. But when I happened upon it recently while scrolling through other documents, the title seemed glaringly obvious. The political unrest now is not as glaringly obvious as it was during the capitol riots, but I doubt if future readers will wonder what I meant by discontent and conflict. So now, sealed in the smoke of summer forest fire season, a glimpse of the sun might again be a welcome sight. Anyway, the season should not matter because it is not a poem about the sun, it is about perspective. It is about the Son.

Wrong Window

It has been cloudy most of the day but,

 just before the sun went down,

it stopped to caress the mountaintops.

And I would have missed that much needed comfort

if I had been looking out the wrong window.

 

There is much to be discouraged about

looking at the news about our country,

stirring up clouds of discontent and conflict.

For my caress of comfort, I must look up

to see where the Son touches still.

1/8/21