Walking home-
on the edge...
Walking home on the trailing edge of a kind winter day, dallying, not to arrive before our conversation ends, turning onto our own street, stepping into the shining moment when the whole town settles still and quiet for barely long enough to hear the crystal light let fall, soft and softer even than snow; Shadows rise and in the houses porches bloom bright arrivals; Tired children are come home, and before they invent habitual recreational quarrels, are glad to sit together around the table laid in love for their own need; If it were April now, windows would be open and we might hear faintly as we passed by, a glad mother singing her joy.
Walk in hope-
-henry





So wonderfully visualized!