Salmon Light

The coming dawn reveals high, washboard clouds
In layers that 'til now made dark the sky,
Hid stars away this moonless night.
But just this moment now, clouds glow and swell,
In pinkish light with edges black and grey ––
Strips of salmon fillet, skin and all ––
They hover, slowly shifting in the sky,
And fill the blinking traveler's eyes with gentle light
As there he lies wrapped warm on earthen bed,
And fill his mouth with hunger.
Awakening, he lifts his head, half-rises,
And in that instant
Stops again, arrested and amazed by what he sees:

In the half-light of the forest, a simple cabin.
Clean, still, and silent,
Not a creature stirs within it or without,
But still this small house glows
With welcoming, pragmatic comfort,
A glow that resonates,
Felt time and again, beyond remembering,
By builder, owner, or wanderer in the woods,
Who after hours or days or weeks in the wilds
Of the forest, at his ease with all of nature,
Remembered in his heart, and at this very sight,
What it is to have a home,
And, in that particular way,
What it is to be human
Out here where so much is not.