It is the golden hour and I ought to go outside.
It is my favorite time of day, and everything
is new again.
The hour is such a treasure that I half expect to see lilies
emerging from the cold February ground,
glittering in snow.
I go outside and, to my surprise, there are lilies everywhere, white
and creamy like ocean froth.
I can scarcely see the sidewalk for all the lilies.
The air is golden and my breath is shallow
and warm beside my face.
I close my eyes and the gold is still with me,
shimmering like the sun
setting upon the sea-stone beach in Nicaragua
flickering off surfboards and white falling waves -
but now the waves in Nicaragua are white snow-lilies in Nagano City
and they are so lovely
I almost cannot bare to see.
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