Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting and autumn a mosaic of them all. ~Stanley Horowitz
I’m not so different from an ear of mosaic maize, multifaceted pieces of tesserae fit together just so.
Depending on how the Light falls I could be tile to be tread or a kaleidoscope of stained glass reflections in sacred space, a gemstone necklace of colored beads, or simply corn on the cob hanging from a stalk.
Plain and infinitely luminous, just like the Artist Himself.
After the keen still days of September, the October sun filled the world with mellow warmth… The maple tree in front of the doorstep burned like a gigantic red torch. The oaks along the roadway glowed yellow and bronze. The fields stretched like a carpet of jewels, emerald and topaz and garnet. Everywhere she walked the color shouted and sang around her… In October any wonderful unexpected thing might be possible. ~Elizabeth George Speare from The Witch of Blackbird Pond
On this early morning
gray clouds lay heavy and unrelenting
hovering low over the eastern hills,
when a moment’s light snuck out from under the covers
throwing back the blankets
to glow golden over the mountain.
Only a minute of unexpected light underneath the gray
gone in a heartbeat
(as are we) yet
O! the glory when we too are luminous.
And who has seen the moon, who has not seen Her rise from out the chamber of the deep, Flushed and grand and naked, as from the chamber Of finished bridegroom, seen her rise and throw Confession of delight upon the wave, Littering the waves with her own superscription Of bliss, till all her lambent beauty shakes towards us Spread out and known at last, and we are sure That beauty is a thing beyond the grave, That perfect, bright experience never falls To nothingness, and time will dim the moon Sooner than our full consummation here In this odd life will tarnish or pass away. ~D.H. Lawrence “Moonrise”
A seventy-year supermoon reassured me this morning, before it settled, vanishing into a bed of low clouds.
~a beacon does shine in the dark, luminous~
I could not sleep last night, tossing in turmoil at how inadequate I feel to the juggling task I face daily. I fear dropping even one ball amid dozens that must stay in the air.
Yet this lambent ball, this holy sphere of the night, remains aloft, floating, to rise again and again to light our darkness. No dropped ball here nor will there ever be.
It isn’t just up to me. I must remember.
~a thank you to Lindsey for her gift of this beautiful word, and how it lit up my day
The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within. – William C. Bryant
The sun is everywhere today, thawing the frost layer on the metal roof of the barn to the point of seeping through the cracks, dripping and splattering inside like an indoor spring shower during our chores. The sun rays are trying to burst through our layers to activate Vitamin D thirsty skin, and there is actual warmth on our cheeks as we look up, squinting at the unaccustomed brightness.
At last, oh at last — after months of gray misty drizzle. It may be only a tease and not the real thing but even the soil is feeling seduced. The snowdrop sprouts have thrust through the frozen ground and crocus shoots are peeking out hopefully on our side of the crust rather than staying tentative and hidden down under.
Today’s glimpse of spring was worth waiting for, even if winter breaks loose again for a few weeks and plunges us back into doldrums and gloom. If only a peek, it is still promise of a coming renewal and rebirth.
We won’t always dwell in darkness. Let us be luminous.