Winter Window

Sunlight comes slowly through the window.
Here, in this dark place you call home,
you watch it in fascination,
a light far stronger than you have let in
with your cloudy windows and closed doors.

You wonder.
Is it cold out there?
Is it warm?
Are the colors a thing of delight
or an assault on the senses?
Are you brave enough,
foolish enough
to find out?

You are.
But just barely.

About this poem

Fought my battles this morning. Won again. (does happy dance)

I have become one stubborn soul in my old age.

Tom