The light changes in the corner. A bright rectangle is cast from the window on the other side of the room.
Morning air is cool in the kitchen: three seasons of the year it’s cool enough to chill my hands. I sit under my blanket, with my lit candle, space heater at my feet.
Sunday mornings I hold as sacred time. No computer screen, no to-do list, no checking my calendar. At most I will take a few pictures. Today I chronicle the light changing in the corner of the room.
Clouds drift over the sun. The sunlight blurs and I can hardly discern the rectangle that was vivid before.
It’s sacred time, yet between the books and the journal in my lap, I still busy myself. I’m human like that, ever imagining the next paths I’ll explore.
The corner is solid gray. No discernible rectangle of light. The shadow of the big rubber duckie is no longer distinct against the wall.
I contemplate the changes within me. In times I live in the bright rectangle of light, and that feels like something of my own doing, a triumph I’ve earned.
The light shifts and I am bathed in shadow, then darker shadow. I forget the feeling of sun on my face. I don’t think to look up at the sky, where the clouds pass over the unchanging source of light. I keep looking at the little corner where I live, wanting the brightness back.
The light begins to change again. The sun shines through the hanging curtain, somehow creating the illusion of a second white curtain against the wall. It looks like a shadow made of sunlight.
You are here within me, oh divine Mystery. You are the perpetual sun, unaltered by the ever-changing clouds. I look up now and again from the work I’ve taken upon myself. On occasion I pause long enough to feel my heart beating within my chest. I breathe like I mean it.
The light keeps changing in the corner.
O Divine Mystery
I breathe like I mean it
the clouds pass over the unchanging Source of light
I keep looking at the little corner where i live
the light keeps changing in the corner
I don’t think to look up at the sky
Hanner, your seasons are instructing us
Love you, dear mama o’ mine.