Shadows

In my woods at this time of year the sun bows low like a Chinese man carrying a heavy load with determination.  In the early morning hours it squints into my eastern windows like a tradesman seeing if I am at home before showing his wares.  The sales pitch is subtle and polite and if my coffee is too seductive and I am feeling too cold, I may miss the whole show as he carries his wares to another hillside house.  But sometimes I am intrigued and I carry the steaming cup across the kitchen to the library room which is on the eastern side.  I set the cup carefully on a book shelf and take my camera to capture the sun's painting on the opposite wall for posterity.

But as I am captured by this mystical talent the vendor moves the top wares to one side and I become blinded by the shiny objects that are for sale and that blast through my collection of eagle's feathers making me wonder if I have can find enough change for this tradesman before he moves on.