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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