Something About the Light

There's something about the light, he said.

She wasn't paying attention.

It's...different, he said.

She had so many things to do. So many things.

Special, he said. Glowing. Almost magical.

She didn't notice. She didn't see it.

She was dealing with realtors, mortgages, showings, lawyers, packers, painters.

Her heart was breaking as she watched her mother die.

Her life was mired in chaos and trauma.

It was just a location on a GPS. A street address. A place with more things to do.

Fix the leaky window. Replace the broken AC. Cut down the dead trees.

She didn't see the special thing about the light.

And then she noticed

A cathedral of trees, swaying gently in the wind. Surrounding her, protecting her. A sanctuary. Right there, in the back yard.

Wind from down the street, coming from blue waves so blue, a deep indigo of cold and chop brushing the hair on her neck.

Bird songs and bee buzz and the tap of a woodpecker, the chirp of a squirrel, music that graced this sanctuary.

She ate lobster smeared with butter, sweet and rich. Cold lemonade soothed her throat.

She smelled brine on the marsh, soaked into the sand and pebbles, and the perfume of Rosa rugosa.

She noticed...farms and fields and hills and buffleheads and sea grass. 

Rows of dahlias and pumpkins and miniature Christmas trees, just babies really, waiting for a celebration.

But still, she didn't notice the light.

And then one day...she opened her eyes.

She looked around her.

Glowing, misty, ephemeral. Everything just a bit out of focus, with a peachy halo hovering about. 

Through the light you could see the family of deer stealing apples and an old stone wall, crumbling at the end.

A hazy sun waiting to enchant and heal.

There's something about the light, she said.

Poem by Penny Watson © 2022 Penny Watson

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