They leaned into each other as the warming first-light leaned against their window, leaned into their room, over the bed, let its weight drape gently on their limbs, whispering Good Things that neither would remember when they woke.

But maybe it touched them dreaming: they stretched, and stretching took deep draughts of air into their lungs, as though Good Things had just begun.

“I forgot just now that winter…”
“I was running in fields with ribbons in my hair…”
“So good to fall asleep beside you…”
“So good to wake beside you…”

We never ask for sun; still it is given.

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