Sunlight on the Edge
The moment before everything shifts

The morning waits
a breath held soft between moments
edges trembling like a sigh before it falls
Light slips in slow and deliberate
a gentle stroke along the skin of the day
lifting something unseen into the still room
It rests there suspended
a hint of gold tracing the silence
where shadows hold their breath
and everything feels both heavy and light
as if the world tilts toward a secret
it almost dares to speak
Colors gather quietly
folding over themselves in slow unfolding
each shimmer a pulse beneath the calm
The air becomes a stillness wrapped in warmth
a silent promise of something shifting
soft as a thought forming at the edge of sleep
In this fleeting space
time loosens its grip and steps aside
inviting the heart to catch the pulse beneath the calm
a gentle stirring without sound
like a glance exchanged between moments
brief and luminous then gone
It is summer’s breath touching skin
an unseen clarity blooming quietly
a tremor of something waiting
just beyond the reach of speech
And in the stillness the surface catches light
revealing a new shape
drawn from the depths of calm
About the Creator
Tim Carmichael
I am an Appalachian poet and cookbook author. I write about rural life, family, and the places I grew up around. My poetry and essays have appeared in Beautiful and Brutal Things, My latest book. Check it out on Amazon




Comments (2)
Exceptionally-written and divine!🌸
I feel the light upon waters A joy of rediscovering something lost