Equal Night

The Vernal Equinox has passed by hours. Day and night were balanced then. Maybe they spun like dancers: one dressed in lace and snow, the other in raven's wings and ink. Evened-out and circling, blurred by momentumn. Synchronized, and each covering an equal portion of the dance floor.

But now it tips.

Light, like an angel drifting down, is gliding over the leading edge of Spring. And falling longer and longer in the coming span.

The dancers on that dark floor move to the sounds of a clock. The swirls that they make look like flowers -- and the light, extending, gives them wings.

There is much to pray for, in the bloom of these new hours.