Sun Catcher

Delia was my grandmother. I can still see her in that cold kitchen, the old wood-burning stove starting to throw out some heat, the skillet in place, waiting for warmth, a dab of oleo, an egg.

The kitchen faced west, but there was a side window that caught a bit of the morning sun. That's where the "film of frost gathered the gold ... poured it softly, like warm milk ... "

Of course, our memories become polished with much handling ... they take on a sheen far beyond that of the original event, and that has happened with this mental picture I still carry with me.

Oh, how I treasure it. The poem was originally published in A New Song:

SUN CATCHER

A film of frost
gathered the gold
of morning sun
on the window,
poured it softly,
like warm milk,
into the kitchen
where Delia
stood working,
embracing her
with a radiance
like the words
of her prayer
being whispered
to the music
of preparations
for another day.
© 1998

Today's word: sheen

Afterthoughts ... in response to your comments:

I like that, This and That. My original intent was not that sort of focus on Delia as the "sun catcher," herself, but I do like that reading of the poem. Delia truly was the sun catcher herself. She caught it and passed it along to a young boy she was trying to rear. Thank you ... I agree, This and That: that's what Life is all about.