humor, sun, winter

december

There it is … the sun … at eye level. And I know it’s a race. A race I’ll lose.

It sits there aloof. Tenacious. Bigger and wider than ever, I think. Like, in your face, dear. It’s super moon size, bright white explosion size. Spanning the vertical lines of the tallest, strongest, finest, trees size. Bold, teeth clenched strong, you just try, size.

And before I can get out the door. It’s done it’s thing, and it’s saying, bye, bye. Try again next time, my dear. Not even a wink.