Isle of the Sun — Photo-artistry by kenne
On the Isle of the Sun
the houses lean open—
not broken, not abandoned—
the doorways don’t close
just unwilling to keep anything in.
Each window
leans forward,
hungry for light,
for the shimmer of the lake
breathing sky back into itself.
I stand in one threshold
and feel the old stories
press through my ribs.
I walk through a room
and the sun walks with me—
no permission asked.
And still—
the openings remain,
wide, insistent,
as if to say:
nothing we love
was ever meant
to stay contained.
And the lake—
always the lake—
keeps answering
with a brightness
that does not belong to me
but enters anyway.
— kenne
