Friday, June 12, 2009

light

it’s late afternoon, and the sun is creeping slowly around the westernmost side of my building... crawling towards its bedroom and gently casting its fading light against my windows.

i know this light.

it peeks around corners and wraps itself into my apartment, reaching inside with its probing rays... dancing thin, sharp and delicate at first, then meandering broader and heavier, but softer, with each passing minute.

i remember this light from my time at hell house, where its arrival at the end of each day was like a welcome, reassuring hug from the universe. over the course of an evening, the interior of my home was gradually saturated in a palette of rich golds and deep ambers that smoothed over rough edges and jagged emotion. it was so beautiful that i wished everyone could see its heart-stopping radiance. the light was a momentary wonder amid the chaos that thundered outside my door, and it felt like it was just for me, as though mother nature herself was bestowing some rare and secret treasure.

now, in my current apartment, with its wide-open space and enormous windows and overall calm, my walls once again come to life as that same light from the setting sun cascades inwards.

my white curtains, spotted with its bright streaks and hazy shadows, sway as the june breeze blows through, dropping the light into every corner. my plants all crane their necks towards the light, drinking in its nourishment and breathing it deeply. and, in the middle of the room, my oafish sofa acts like a hulking, cozy anchor, the interior sun around which the space revolves.

as the light merges with big red’s inherent, fiery glow, the entire space, just as before, turns a breathtaking golden colour. as the sun continues to descend into the horizon, its rays transition from white to yellow to orange to pink to purple to gone.

bathed in this light, i feel myself wholly at rest. at ease. i exhale. i close my eyes.

this light is comfort and peace.

this light is warm.

this light is tender.

this light is quiet.

this light is soothing.

this light is beautiful.

this light is familiar.

this light is home.

this light is me.

6 comments:

Lou said...

Yes, the light IS you!

Beautiful writing, beautiful photo.

vickie said...

thanks {{{{{{{{{{{{{*lou*}}}}}}}}}}}}}.

Lou said...

I've returned to say again how very beautiful the contrast of light and color is in your photo of Big Red.

vickie said...

thank you! i snapped it just before posting the entry, because i thought it might be a nice accompaniment. :-)

cod said...

wow........i was so drawn in to this post and photo!

beautiful observation (((val))).

vickie said...

thanks, moob!