Sunlight

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Hmmm, Hmmm,

When the Sun Signs Its Name Again

Welcome, Sun.

Ancient fire with perfect memory,
you return not because you left
but because we needed to notice you again.

You rise like a golden drum
and the horizon answers.

This is the real new year.
Not written in numbers,
but in wings.

Listen.

The birds are signing the sky
with living ink.
Each note a declaration:
we survived the long question of winter.

Their songs stitch morning
back into the torn fabric of hope.

The earth, too, has begun speaking.

Seeds break their silence underground,
pushing green sentences
through the mouths of fields.

Roots drink light
before light even arrives.

Welcome, Sun,
keeper of ripening promises.

You place warm coins
into the empty hands of branches
and call it blossom.

You turn soil into table.
Hunger into patience.
Patience into fruit.

We stand here,
children of your patient generosity,
remembering the old truth:

The year does not begin
when clocks agree.

It begins
when life dares
to start again.

It begins
when the first bird refuses silence.

It begins
when the first leaf opens its palm.

It begins
now,

as you lift your burning crown
above the waiting world

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and everything
answers:

Yes.

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