Our seasons here, a
Mediterranean climate mid-way between the Tropic of Cancer and the Arctic Circle , are more defined by light than by drastic
weather changes. Many trees are coming into bud, fewer have lost their leaves.
The grasses turn from golden to green with the first rains. But, it is really the
light that marks time.
The long shadows of
November, the sun barely edging over the southern hills in the City ─ a time to
contemplate the coming darkness of full winter. I treasure each season, although
the slanted light of late autumn or early spring seem especially wonderful to
me. November light signals the slowness of winter, March light tells the coming
wonder of spring.
Days are becoming short, the
light even more precious when it is so limited. A time for interior repose and assessment.
I love this prose poem - a contemplation of light. It has been gray here, both in the city and mountains. The light is dim and the days are chilly. I'm trying to provide my own light to warm myself (and possibly others). An emergency in our family, so we are helping with 4 of the grandchildren. They are a delight - a kind of sun in our days. Have a great Thanksgiving, Duff.
ReplyDeleteI so love that we can be in contact through these little blog posts. I saw on your blogs that you are taking a break until the New Year. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving and holidays with your family. I do hope the emergency passes with minimal disruption to your lives. You will certainly be in my thoughts until we meet again later in the winter. Enjoy the light!
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