“Ooh it’s the light time!” I can often be heard saying from the south living room window, leaning against the frame, looking east.
It’s kind of like watching the sun throw paint at a canvas across the yard. There’s a patch of trees and a suggestion of a rolling hill in the pasture that has been in full sun for hours (at least all of the ones that we’ve been up), but the Earth is turning away from its star now so the light is coming in like a side-eye glance. Only the tops of the trees and portions of the pasture are seen by the squinting sun and it stopped me the first time I saw it. Now it’s something I stop for.
I’m not sure what it is. It’s sort of like having a favorite color I guess...it’s just your favorite. You feel it and you know it and there is no reason to question it. It gives me joy, and I take it with gratitude when the clouds and weather allow it.
It also makes me realize something inherent to humans...we notice change and we notice things when they’re leaving. As I wrote out “Quarantine Day 365” under today’s date at the top right of my object writing notebook, I took a moment to acknowledge the year of change and leaving we’ve all had. Some days cut deep and we noticed them like the slip of a kitchen knife, and others spun by like the same static at the center of every record you’ve ever put under a needle. But even the days that have felt exactly the same, have had little bits of change and leaving. And these have all seemed to stack up, waiting to be noticed on a day like today, when a calendar and a daily practice that has changed to become more consistent are both shouting about it.
We’re all back where we started and in a completely different place. It feels like I am a sound echoing off of a past wall, bouncing back and forth as I gradually decay into the silence of acceptance for where I am.
I default to being a glass-not-yet-full-why-didn’t-you-fill-it sort of person, with a but-I-didn’t-do-this-or-that mentality when it comes to analyzing how a day or a week or 7 years of quarantine have gone. But today has me recognizing that I have been working on changing that, even if in the smallest and slowest of ways, and working on leaving that way of thinking is something to take notice of. Something to stop for.
May you be stopped by your own “light time”, and make the time to keep stopping for it.
You can join us for two events this weekend:
Sat 3/20 - Concert (virtual) - The Bugle Boy in LaGrange, TX
Sun 3/21 - Songwriting Workshop (virtual) - Terri Hendrix’s OYOU