I was asked to write about the light coming through my window. This is what I wrote, completely unedited. Think whatever you want.
One blind down and the other up, allowing just enough light to bleed into my room so I do not need a lamp on.
Just because there is light does not mean there is sun.
The sun hibernates behind tired clouds, longing to give life to the ground below.
But for now we must survive with old snow crunching beneath our feet, teasing us by melting, only to come back the next night, surprising us in the morning when the old man next door makes his daily trip outside to retrieve his bible; the daily newspaper.
I can see the sun clawing to get away from its barrier of clouds, but I cannot look for too long or else it will hurt my eyes.
One blind down and the other up, allowing just enough light to bleed into my room so I do not need a lamp on.
Just because there is light does not mean there is sun.
The sun hibernates behind tired clouds, longing to give life to the ground below.
But for now we must survive with old snow crunching beneath our feet, teasing us by melting, only to come back the next night, surprising us in the morning when the old man next door makes his daily trip outside to retrieve his bible; the daily newspaper.
I can see the sun clawing to get away from its barrier of clouds, but I cannot look for too long or else it will hurt my eyes.
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