This morning I stood on the south bank of Deer Creek looking at the waterside bridge abutment opposite me. Full morning sunshine from behind my right shoulder lit the cement in three triangles: one bright in direct shine; one of shine reflected from the rippling water and ice; one in full shade from the bridge deck.
The bridge marks the turn around point of my daily walk, and I have stopped there for years of collected days, now, to simply observe and notice. The size and arrangement of triangles under that bridge varies by hour of day, by season, by cloud cover. Yet the underlying physical intricacies that create that pattern remain predictable, steady and reliable.
I think the light pattern under that bridge is a quilt block pattern waiting for me to create in echo. I have been experiencing, absorbing, collecting the design day by day. Now I can echo it, and I have an idea of how.
There is no story there for me, no drama or comedy, no metaphor. It is just an experience of the moment. The pattern of light just is. As I notice, it invites me to just be. There, in the moment of noticing this morning, I felt happy.
I came home to find this quote on today's Writer's Almanac: Edith Wharton said, "There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that receives it."
It's been more than a week since I wrote here? Yes, but all "the boys" and their families were here on Saturday, and I fell into first preparation, then the experience of the hour, and then a glorious exhaustion from which I am now recovering.
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