Sun of January

She's a rare beauty... The type that almost hurts to look at. One that shines in a magical way and her eyes reveal the beaten paths of our spirits. She's placid like the late sunrise on a cold winter morning… an orange ball of fire poised over the horizon ready to vanish into her own luminescence. She's such a tease. She's hypnotic, a mystery of sorts, as she comes and goes each day. She's predictable, always walking the same road as if she's searching for something she'd lost long before. She's here. She goes. She's here. She goes. She's here in the way a butterfly visits a field of daisies in summer… (a fleeting moment) She goes in the way that sea shells disappear into the ocean's tide… (goodbye forever) She's here. She goes. She's here. She goes. But you can't get her out of your mind. She stays in the way that a tree stands tall in the forest… (rooted deep within) She's there. She'll always be right there.