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Posts Tagged ‘light’

When I told my family in Virginia that for my birthday I chose to go walking along the seashore, many responded with horror.  “Wasn’t it cold?” they asked.  “Yes,” I said, “and windy too.  So I had to keep my head down.”  And this is what I saw.

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When I return to Virginia, I am always surprised in a wondrous way by the beauty of the light falling upon the landscape.  It is different than the light that inspires me here in New England.  At some point I must sit and write about those lights, but until then I will simply share this picture taken while visiting with family.  For those of you who celebrate Thanksgiving, I hope you had a good holiday.

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I have written of Steve’s kitchen quite often and in various ways, from the dishes he prepares to the memories evoked by his simple act of making coffee.  This autumn, I have found that even with that cup of coffee in hand, I like to sit in the quiet of his warming kitchen.  Like ritual, I watch the remaining leaves on the towering oak tree flutter in a morning breeze, and then … it happens.  I look across the table at Steve and I say, “The sun is coming around the corner on its sled.”  He says, “Mmmmhmm.”

It does not flood the room, this autumn light.  It moves slowly like honey or light maple syrup across a plate.  My favorite part?  How light pours upon the pot of sage.

It soaks into dusty leaves, alive and dead, and runs along unruly stems.

Truth be told, there are other herbs in the room, on the same little table, buckets of basil, rosemary stalks and more.  But my favorite sight in the morning light, this autumn so far anyway, remains the sage …

…even when its leaves are not green.

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Odd items, I suppose, a tiny scrapbook of family pictures, the remains of my first and probably last attempt at eating escargot and a blade of grass picked up on the way home.

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drifting down

covering the mostly naked branches of trees in the Middlesex Fells

mostly naked I say because up high leaves still bathed in the fading light

until even that light disappeared and all that remained was a transient glimmer of gold in the air

and a dusting of dark rose upon the land

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… perhaps butterflies do too.

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… butterflies in a mobile that a friend gave to me several years ago,

dried flowers disintegrating at a wonderfully slow pace,

oak leaves shining like jewels in a coronet,

and water dissipating on a window pane.

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