On Light

Light is one of the most beautiful features of this world. Urgently but efficiently it travels thousands of miles through the cold crisp emptiness of space to finally alight on the tip of my wooden chair by the window. It is quiet and does not demand my attention – it is happy to remain on the periphery of my vision, to garnish the morning with a delicate grace. It has the unspoken dignity and goodness of kindly professors and religious leaders with the creative range of the greatest musicians.

Sun light is particularly accomplished. I don’t know which is more beautiful – thick rich sunsets, swimming in reds and oranges, or that subtle glow of amber on the tip of the wooden chair by the window. It can be crisp and full as on days when the sky is cobalt blue, when it cuts out and defines every thing, yet it can hang softly and glow in the mist of autumn mornings.

Despite its silent humility and beauty, Light is a physical necessity. It is incredible to think that all these intoxicating displays actually produce the food I eat and define the rhythm of my daily life. Sunlight sets a pace for my internal body clock. I sleep when it leaves and wake when it returns. I am happy for my daily routines to be defined by something capable of such diverse, mesmerising beauty, and feel honoured that my physical make-up is so inextricably connected to it.



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