Cold light through amber glass

The crystal purity of winter light shows all things clear: dark, interlacing boughs, storm-broken fence, the trellis where dry vines still cling is neutrally austere. But, in the upstairs hall, through panes of amber glass, splashes incongruous gold, a blithe sunburst of summer cheer. Entranced, I linger in that blessed spot, with gilded hair and burnished skin, my hands the color of honey and of apricot

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