The Light

It was light that compelled me.

One glance at the thermometer warned me that there was no warmth in it, but I waited as long as I could into the afternoon before I venture outdoors.

And, oh, the light!

It bleaches grey branches to white, sharpens blue sky into sapphire.

By the second lap, there are needles in my chest.

My jagged breathing echoes my jagged prayers, sound put to silent fear that light would retreat, that darkness would overcome again.  

At the crest of the hill, the light shines on my face, too bright, too intense to look upon.

I bow my head; 

diamonds sparkle on my eyelashes, and I breathe in sun and cold and blue 

and believe that Light will win.