In the golden light of the morning
she was astonished by the details:
The saw-toothed ridges
on the leaves of the ash tree
as they waved in the breeze.
The sequined glint of sunlight
on the drops of dew,
yet to be absorbed back into the atmosphere.
The motes of dandered dust,
dancing in the shaft of sunlight
that warmed the sleeping dog.
And his thousands of little acts,
And his thousands of little acts,
that when added together
over the years, equaled love.
For my husband, on our 23rd anniversary. I am one lucky woman.
