Rain Light

Raining furiously at 10:30 a.m. and so dark that I have the lights on in order to see what I am writing.

Interestingly, I just read a piece from J. Ruth Gendler’s Changing Light: “Light spills over, light breaks through, light drenches us as thoroughly as rain. I listen eagerly as perceptive artists talk about kinds of light. Drawing with lines of light. Light bites into things. Light hits the Pacific and strikes off the ocean waters. Walking in the redwood fog, everything is lit from within. Over my desk three words: ‘Light determines form.’ We are all described by light. Defined by light. Outlined by light.” Rain is pelting the skylight and the street lights just came on. As I look beyond the window the trees are lit from within, the spring leaves glowing with unstoppable awakening. Slender green blades of grass pulled upward by gray light even as the heavy drops hit upon them. I feel dull inside as the cleansing water tempts me into the light of its April shower.