Sun on Leaves

This afternoon was a Christmas party. Properly lovely. Good people, good food, the sort of easy warmth that makes you remember humans aren’t always a nightmare.

Afterwards I took the dog out with my son. Fresh air. Slow steps. That satisfied feeling you get when nothing needs fixing.

Back home I made a cup of tea, put some music on, and sat down in my green velvet armchair.

As I sat, the last rays of evening sun came through the window and lit up the leaves of a plant hanging in the corner of the room. Quietly, absurdly delightful.

And then, without any effort at all, there was just this simple fullness. No fireworks. No message. No special meaning.

So I wrote this.

Plain as Day

To sit,
taken by fullness,
a smile,
a joy,
for no reason.

Nothing special.
Just this,
shining forth
in gentle completeness.

Finding nothing,
wanting less,
plain as day.

That’s it, really.

Just tea, a bit of music, sun on leaves, and this ordinary completeness doing what it does.

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