Sometimes I fear waking up in old light

When I sit on the side of my bed in the morning and look out the window. Most of the time, the first thing I notice is the light. Of course, why wouldn't I? While it is a large and very busy yard, the trees seldom change, The position of the fences and garden are generally fixed. There is the question of the chicken door, which is, of course, practical information. The inherent colors are wonderful from the browns and greys of fall and winter, to the spring and early summer and the lush overwhelming greens of every shade, wonderful, but so slow to change.

Every morning though, the light is slightly different day to day, minute to minute. In the morning it filters through the trees at the back of the property to the east. So there is a slow effect of motion as the light slants through the forest and gradually moves as the sun rolls to the south and upward and over in its arc. Sometimes direct light, sometimes diffuse, because of clouds.

But sometimes, especially in the morning, I look out the window and see a light in replay, an old light, one that's been used before, exactly and I know where I've seen it. It's not like deja vu. I have no inkling of what is about to happen. But when I see a light I remember, I'm suddenly put back into the time I saw it before. Many times that can be pleasant, but a few lights are not so good. They take me back to a time that is better forgotten. Not always terrible, it was never the fault of the light, just things that should be seen from a distance to appreciate any benefit.

This morning when I sat on the side of the bed and looked out the windows, I saw light that reminded me of going with my mom to Kansas City to do some shopping and some chores. Those trips were never comfortable, happy trips for me. I didn't like Kansas City and I still have vivid memories of it. I always worried while we were there. I'm trying to think of what I worried about. I guess I worried about getting separated and being lost there. I was very young. It was a big city and seemed to be filled with strange people with unknowable intentions, at least the places we went.

We would spend the entire day getting ready, going, being there, then returning home. The entire time felt like we were at risk. It was like going to sea on a rickety ship during a storm. That was almost exactly was how I saw it. I couldn't wait to get home.

So I sat on the edge of the bed and looked out the window. My dogs were there lying on the floor next to the bed. I looked out the window and I saw that light. It was the light from a trip to Kansas City in the fall. I was in a large 1963 powder blue Ford Galaxy 500 sedan and we were risking death and loss at sea once again. It couldn't always end well.

When I saw the light I felt my heart sink and there was a moment of indecision and then I looked again and saw that it wasn't the same light. The all clear sounded softly in the back of my mind and I looked down appreciatively at Smudge the dog who smiled back at me with reassurance. Everything was fine and it was safe to get going. It was a trick of the light.

More later,