HOLDING LIGHT

HOLDING LIGHT

LOVING, THAT LIGHT

In the emergence of Dawn, the day aroused, there might be a moment to grasp the light.

Hold fast, that beginning.

I see that as a metaphor — how to grasp, and hold firm, gently, in hand and mind, the day.

I awake in the dark, but I’m always looking for the light.

Spying out, the long horizon, the ridged teeth of the Cascades, the shimmering trees — the plains casting the dust of morninglight, or the vaulting sky, scraped by buildings — the stretching perspective of the illumed concreted corridors. Every day begins — softened, striking, sparkling, misted, jaggedly shadowed — each, their own beginning.

Now, in the storm of a New York morning, lightning clashes, thunder bellows into the heart of the building — and in holding this day, I stride into the wind and rain — holding the light in my heart, as Dawn has long settled into the beginnings of being.

Here.

Tim
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