The Light

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A potentially sanity-saving email from The Literary Man popped into my inbox this morning.  A writing prompt.  “Write about light,” it said.  Fear and worry have threatened to render me useless, mute, and paralyzed.  I lay in bed this morning wondering if I could even summon one word again, let alone sentences, paragraphs…ah, banshee are dramatic creatures…

And so, some light.  Thank you Literary Man!

I woke,pulled curtains aside and discovered a morning dripping in light.  Gone was the heavy air that had enveloped the city in a dirty, yellow haze.  The dawn was crystalline, pale blue like an aquamarine dipped in water.  Tree leaves fluttered, outlined in razor-sharp relief, ridiculously green against slate gray shingles and blue sky.  Fear was lifted from the world. I threw back the covers and watched columns of dust ascend, remarkably disciplined for dead skin and cat dander, into the sunlight. Coloured prisms twirled on the walls like strings of gems hanging in a breeze.  The clarity of light outside terrified and mesmerized.

Looking away from the window, my eyes met heavy dark furniture, dull walls, duller carpet.  If whitewash were at hand, the whole house would be put to the brush.  Everything should reflect the sparkling light; I wanted it to careen off every possible surface.  How could light be captured in such morose surroundings? Would it not flee? An incandescent bulb would no longer seem adequate, an inferior imitation to this brightness. Clouds formed in the west, deadly filters of this faultless light. I closed my eyes; in and for an instant, darkness fell again.

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