In fairy tales,

the protagonist

finds a secret doorway

at the very moment

he or she needs it.

A shimmering cave,

a door at the base

of a Redwood tree,

a cabinet long ignored

or a breeze blowing,

seemingly, from behind a wall.

At the end of my street,

in the predawn hours

two weeks ago,

a light appeared.

This is no standard streetlight.

Brighter by twice

than any other street lamp,

the warm, glowing daylight

is visible from more than a block away.

It is as if the sun

has chosen to concentrate

in one small puddle

at the corner of two ordinary streets.

On that first day,

I hurried down the street

hoping to find the source of unusual brightness.

Had a neighbor installed a new security system?

Were two cars idling

for a clandestine meeting?

No,

just a warm yellow

the color of baby chick feathers

pooling below the street lamp.

Now,

each morning I rise

and wonder if the light

will have vanished

or

perhaps a new shimmering

will indicate the secret portal

is open for adventure.