The Light Through the Screen

There is light that comes through the wavering mesh on the hasty wooden frame that is my screen door. It is alive. It has a pulse. It shudders when it breathes, as the light wind moves it around in the late afternoon sun. There are pockets of shadow that make up the tremulous lungs, vibrant highlights the veins and blood, a rickety cross beam the bones of a dark skeleton. She is quiet, patient. She is content to let the black thread run its course before she secures her place in the new light. We have an understanding - for me acknowledgment, for her a possible purpose on the horizon with the changing tide.