a light capable of change

Sometimes, it's just the slant of sun the morning, or a reunion with an old friend. Sometimes it's just good coffee, or a compliment a stranger offers looking your way. Whatever it is, you realize you've had enough. The fine focus you keep giving your little frustrations. The casual fuming you fan out about your bank account, your job hunt, the condition of your body. All of this adds up, or rather, subtracts into, a flimsy existence, a half-life, an embattled, embittered center of disequilibrium. How can the world not suffer under your dark cloud? How can the bathroom mirror rid itself of all those grey smudges? How can the lemon tree on your back deck not plummet from neglect? Arrows in your foot, at your back, in your heart. Something loveless and uncertain clinging to your neck, dragging you down into the mud. Enough. The light is changing. You are a light capable of change. There is a glow in you hungry for air. There is air in you fiery and free. The street you have been walking leads to nowhere in particular, to a dense dark wood that is better left unknown. Do not mistake that darkness and density for opportunity, for eventual renewal and your ultimate heroism. Turn around. Look up. A sky awaits, an impossible, possible blue.