Wednesday, May 20, 2015
the interplay between light and dark.
As a child I was terribly afraid of the dark. I don't think anyone knew because I felt stupid being so afraid. Once night fell, I would walk from room to room by light switch as though I was a frog hopping across a pond on lily pads. I had a light clipped to the headboard of my bed that I claimed to use for reading -I did read before bed-, but I liked that it continued to shower me with light despite it being night.
Still, as an adult, I find myself on edge in the blurry veil of darkness. My adrenaline seems to climb to an edging on fear level and my pores seem to spike with attentiveness. But, I've also come to treasure the beauty of the transitions: dusk and dawn.
There's something about the pre-dawn light that's charming. It's soft and friendly, floating in like steam thick atop the cold morning air. It's a daily reminder that night has passed, the sun is here again, and another day dawns. It's the same moon and the same sun doing the same dance, but the day is new and promising.
And in the daylight, there are shadows. In the newness, a remembrance of what belong to yesterday. The light is only beloved because darkness falls. The good special because bad happens. The kind cherished because mean exists.
This much is true about life: it takes dark and light to make the shadows so beautiful.
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