Pondering the Light
As a child, small in size and closer to the ground, I remember sun light...light. It made such an impression on me. I remember how being in and out of sun light made me feel. Before I began going to school and was home all day, I knew my day through the light. I remember it outside and how it came through the windows. Cloudy days, rainy days, it was still there. Maybe my eyes were more sensitive to it, all my senses alive and new and focused.
The way the sun went through the leaves of tall canna lilies, making everything a shady green is a nice memory. I stood below the large leaves,feeling hugged by them when there was a summer breeze. I would pretend the tall pecan trees surrounding the yard were my giant friends who took care of me and protected me from anything or anyone in the world outside my yard. I needed only to stay near them. I'd speak to them and they would speak to me. Their language was the shadows they would cast on the ground. Moving branches meant happiness, answered yes to my questions. A perfectly still shadow meant my friend was thinking, or simply replying no to a question asked. Sitting beneath them, nibbling on tangy clover and dirt, I'd look up at the sun passing through the many levels of branches, and I remember, so well, this complete and whole sense of security that came with knowing I was safe and alone at the same time. I still remember that light.
In early October, maybe it was mid-September, I remember how the sunlight began to loosen it's grip and feel further away. How it was weaker and how that felt and looked to me. There are so many memories and while I don't remember the details I remember the light, then the scents.
The darkness, night time with it's moonlight has always remained the same. The very same. There is more continuity in it. The same moon in its various stages has always been the moon and it's moonlight has always held me close even while the stars dim, and in some places, fade all together. The moon is a book of memories still being made while the sun and it's light have chapters.
The way the sun went through the leaves of tall canna lilies, making everything a shady green is a nice memory. I stood below the large leaves,feeling hugged by them when there was a summer breeze. I would pretend the tall pecan trees surrounding the yard were my giant friends who took care of me and protected me from anything or anyone in the world outside my yard. I needed only to stay near them. I'd speak to them and they would speak to me. Their language was the shadows they would cast on the ground. Moving branches meant happiness, answered yes to my questions. A perfectly still shadow meant my friend was thinking, or simply replying no to a question asked. Sitting beneath them, nibbling on tangy clover and dirt, I'd look up at the sun passing through the many levels of branches, and I remember, so well, this complete and whole sense of security that came with knowing I was safe and alone at the same time. I still remember that light.
In early October, maybe it was mid-September, I remember how the sunlight began to loosen it's grip and feel further away. How it was weaker and how that felt and looked to me. There are so many memories and while I don't remember the details I remember the light, then the scents.
The darkness, night time with it's moonlight has always remained the same. The very same. There is more continuity in it. The same moon in its various stages has always been the moon and it's moonlight has always held me close even while the stars dim, and in some places, fade all together. The moon is a book of memories still being made while the sun and it's light have chapters.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home