The Light Sitting at Your Empty Table

The middle of the day is long when the house is quiet. You set the table for four out of habit, and then you stop—staring at the empty chair where no one is coming.

The silence feels heavy, like a weight you have to carry alone. But the light does not require a crowd to be present.

It was there before the chair was filled, and it remains when the plate is taken away. The kingdom grows while you sleep, while you wait, while you sit alone in the afternoon sun.

All by itself. You are not abandoned in this quiet.

The light is sitting at the table with you, in the space between the fork and the plate. The emptiness is not a sign that you are forgotten.

It is the place where the light is most clearly seen.