This morning I woke to golden light spilling softly through the curtains.
The room was quiet, but the light carried the warmth of the rising sun.

I realized that the same light touching my window was also touching the world outside-
spreading across the fields, warming the branches, and resting on the wings of birds already singing in the trees.

We often imagine those who have passed walking on golden streets,
immersed in perfect belonging somewhere beyond this life.
That image is comforting.

But the morning light reminded me of something else.

Perhaps their glow still reaches us.
Perhaps remembrance and ancestry are the way their warmth continues to find its way back.

The ones who now walk the golden avenues may still witness us,
still cheer us forward in quiet ways.

Like angels unseen-
their presence slipping gently through the fabric of ordinary moments,
glowing through the curtains at sunrise,

while we continue walking here
on these less-than-golden roads.