The early evening falls quietly
and without fanfare.
It catches my eye by chance,
a shimmering shaft of golden light
on the wall by the stairs.
No more than thirty centimetres long,
the length and approximate width of a ruler.
It dances against the wall,
cut by the shadow of the blinds.
Silhouettes of trees tremble together,
dappling the honeyed strip of sunlight,
branches bristling with the first leaves of Spring.
And before my eyes, the light fades.
It happens gradually,
and then all at once.
The way a season changes.
The way a building collapses.
The way a soul leaps
over the garden wall of a hospice,
and disappears into the unknown,
leaving me staring at the space it just occupied,
wishing I could’ve held onto it
a moment longer.
~~ June Briar Kelsey