I was alone, my small dark soul, its wings hunched beneath shame's weight. The little light in the quiet where I whispered sins to the tired priest, still rests inside that child’s heart. Sweet sad light.
Today, I walked beside a lake and startled when I saw the swans released before the sun’s warm arms have lifted leaves and grasses.
March is cold, but full of light; a light that fills the outstretched wings of a freed and joyous heart. Oh white! White! White! Oh white, bright heart!