We've all been writing lately

I wonder at it every time, how words that seems so set in my head are forced to become something else altogether on paper.

Days Like This

The winter sun shines off both the clouds and the road, and all the drivers have to squint against it. At stoplights you can turn to see their faces, lit golden under puckered brows.

The road seems thin, the world stretched tight, as if it could snap against the flood of hopes underneath it. The Love that sustains us feels sharp and clear, a breath in the cold.

(I edited this once since posting it, taking out a couple words and adding in another.)