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photo: Goldstream News Gazette

One splendid autumn day 
light leaps from leaves, 
an ecstasy of yellow, red and orange, 
your eyes enflamed with glory, 
caught up in the moment's crimson rapture.
But then, when flame gives way to smoke, 
and embers cool to ochre, 
dull and sere,
when fire gives way to ash and winter's long stone wall, 
will those moments be any less given, 
any less precious and passing? 
The light, 
even the light that languishes beneath an asphalt sky,
beneath a soggy tarp of cloud, 
still leaps within the light. 
In the eye behind the eyes, 
where grace is more than splendor, 
every stain or shadow is a form of beauty, 
the angle of a door a prayer,
and glory is the hidden name 
and praise a coiled spring within.

Steve Garnaas Holmes