Carry the last light home

There’s a minute, most evenings, when the cloud still has an edge of gold. Miss it and the night is only night. Catch it and you have a coal to walk back with.

Not a photograph, though you may take one. The feeling in the ribs: the day was hard, and still this. Carry that into the kitchen. Into the voice you use on the people you love. Into the voice you use on you.

Lifestyle isn’t a closet of habits. It’s the voice you bring through the door. Warmth for the people still awake, including you.

Stand on the pebbles if you can. If you cannot, stand at the glass. Then go home kinder than you left, and don’t pretend the world is only grey.