the sun is beautiful , long and low on the horizon like it 's stretching itself , like it 's shaking off a nap , and i know underneath this weak winter light is the promise of days that last until eight p.m. and pool parties and the smell of chlorine and burgers on the grill ; and underneath that is the promise of trees lit up in red and orange like flames and spiced cider , and frost that melts away by noon-layers upon layers of life , always something more , new , deeper .