Amber Hour

Today I revisit “Amber Morning”, endeavoring to maintain the essence and flow of the original blog post while presenting the poetry I see, feel, and recollect in order to more accurately approximate my experience of this long guiding reference. Consider it a work in progress.

Amber Hour

At sunup she sees sunlight
flooding our front hallway,
moved, maybe mesmerized,
she snaps photographs,
then finds me and shows me. 
This familiar sight, this feeling,
has compelled me for years,
a desire-born daydream,
seductive, recurring,
enigmatically envisioned
before this old house 
became our new home,
alchemized from midday
and afternoon visits. 
Imagined intimacy
with daybreak and dog, 
a steaming cup of coffee,
the elegant entrance’s
walls hue-ing buttercream,
goldenrod, amber, umber.
And when this old house 
became our new home,
my patchwork fantasy
pulled persuasively
despite my bride’s pushback. 
          My persistence,
          her reluctance, 
          our compromise.
My prescient reverie
made real and enduring 
until time’s tug turns 
persistence, reluctance,
and compromise into
yesterday’s story, and
a new color emerges —
grayer, cooler, yet still 
warm in the rising sun.
Amber light spills across
walls, sconces, art daydreamed
before this old house 
became our new home,
and anew now… again,
imagination and 
reality blending 
in the amber hour.