The face of a setting
winter sun reflects in a
nearby pond. The communion
between the two is subtle
and spectacular. In an
instant, though, the rippled
reflection is gone, as the sun
drops just low enough in
the sky.

What’s missing isn’t the light,
but the angle – the one from
which the sun watches us
as it moves along its
inevitable path.

It’s always been this way:
For every moment of light
that’s lost, another is won.