The Greatest Gift

Dawn breaks as I near the trail’s end,

My dogs, driven by impatience, eager for their treats,

Drop their heads and slow. Up ahead,

an old woman stands like an apparition.

Myopic eyes squint toward the horizon,

Veined, knotted hands grip the handles

of her walker.

Eyes shine from hooded lids,

A crinkled grin, her voice half whispers,

“Isn’t that beautiful?”

Not waiting for a reply,

She casts reverential eyes back to the horizon,

To the spilled yolk of a rising sun.

Slowly her words installs itself,

In a tangle of holiday plans,

Divining the gift

Of a new day.

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