Golden Threads

A fine gold thread appeared in my window, dangling from an old piece of plaster outside. It waved beautifully and wistfully, teasing of brighter futures and glittering hope.

I walked towards to hold it and found it was nothing more than a wayward beam of light; a sliver caught between sunset and clouds, dancing with wind.

The illusion is apt, I thought. Fitting, even.  The light entwined itself over my hands,

and I allowed myself to feel gilded and enriched.  Movies are always better than reality.