The Sun

There is something achingly hopeful about sunlight in February, I think. It can pierce through the darkest of snowy skies with a whisper of a promise of future warm days, and it can make you believe, despite bone-deep chills, that the outside is still the place to be.

The sun's angle just now brings light into our rooms more so that at any other time of year. It pools on our chilly hardwood floors, bringing forth flecks of amber in the hundred year old grain that go unnoticed in August.

My littlest one and I, in playfully fierce competition with our dogs, battle for the sunniest seats in the house, our books, warm drinks, and quilts joining us on what seems like an indoor rotating picnic of sorts.

In the afternoon our friend, the sun, begins it's descent. A few last rays peek past the turret of the house next door and make the slate rooftops in our little city sparkle.

It is ordinary, but it is magic, every time it shines.