As the winter days ahead begin to darken and draw down
I will slip quietly to work inside this golden room.
My joy is twofold: in catching the memory here and in finding the moment of light.
Early in the morning, this tiny space is shadowed; nothing more.
But a west-facing window draws the evening sun towards it like a song.
In moments, then, caught on the cusp of evening light,
the walls of this tiny space are set aglow –
filling my heart with surprise and joy.

It was a small and plain bedroom;
my mother brought us here, three tiny girls, new-born,
fresh from the hospital three years in a row,
to lie with her in the peaceful early nights
as she drew close the children she never thought she’d have.
I feel her sometimes, with me, here,
as I walk into the golden rush of evening;
feeling the light drawn inexorably into this silent golden room.
I imagine her lying here, bathed in sunlight, holding me close,
watching my chest rise and fall;
my tiny fingers held softly close in hers.