Gathered Light

I have come to believe that gathering

is a form of listening

a slow move toward what remains

after the noise has passed.

I gather the light first

not the bold glare of noon

but the pale shimmer that drifts through early hours

the evening glow that seems unsure of itself

I take it gently

as if brilliance could startle.

Then I gather the hours

the overlooked ones

the small slivers of time

that hover between tasks

seeking a place to belong.

They are like kernels

kept for a season yet to come

a promise waiting for a place to root.

I gather voices too

laughter carried across a room

names spoken with care

stories that arrive unfinished

yet stay with me anyway.

They settle inside

like warmth after a long walk in winter

a comfort shaped by those who offered it.

And when night deepens

I gather myself

the thoughts pulled in many directions

the breath I forgot to take.

I bring them back

as someone might guide scattered lanterns

into a circle of soft fire.

In doing this I learn

gathering is choosing

to keep what matters

to lift it into the light

so it does not disappear.