Sun Dance

This is the last entry in Welsh Cakes: Book of Short Stories. It is more of a descriptive passage than a story. It is very short so I have included the whole piece. Now that the stories in the book are finished, nest week I will start something new.

Winter and summer, I sit in my morning space and write. I watch the sun come up—later in winter than summer—but every day it comes and begins its morning dance.
In summer I see the light shine over the leaves dappling them in green and yellow shades, their breeze-rippled surface dancing green to yellow to green. The sun jumps through the windowpane and lands on the carpet in front of me. Picking up its dance on my own private stage, it moves in seductive steps of muted light and shadow from yellow to grey to yellow.
In winter the sun lands its cool light through prisms. Touching down on snow crystals it sparks ice diamonds of red and blue, green and gold. The sun’s winter light awakens the colors into dance and frost reflects in rainbow hues then rests back into white, as the sun arcs low in the sky and passes across the snow-covered earth.
I sit in my morning writing space and like an artist with her brush and paint; I try to capture the dance in pen and ink.