In the darkness of this morning,
I saw a flicker of loveliness.
For the briefest of fleeting moments,
the boundaries between worlds … relaxed.
And as a result (like a discretely revealed secret)
something quietly captivating appeared.
In this instance,
the glass of my backyard window stood as a canvas
capturing a stunning visual melding of two realities …
a simultaneous meeting of inside and outside.
From within … the shadowy reflection
of my daughter’s art easel,
illuminated from behind with the yellow-orange glow
of a light from a distant room.
From outside … a random swatch
of thin, bare, boney, finger-like branches
from a scraggly wisp of a tree poking up from below the window.
In the pane of glass,
the two come together in the most ethereal way.
Only the blonde-wood frame of my daughter’s easel showing,
solid in contrast to the floating, disembodied, three-dimensional snippets
of branch seeming to levitate both outside and within it.
The effect is surreal and haunting and …
I can’t capture it.
I can’t get a hold of it
either in words, or with my camera
I want to share this with you.
With … someone.
The soft, otherworldly feel of it
makes me long to tiptoe back to my bedroom
and gently rouse a warm body slumbering there.
I want to press my skin against someone’s skin
and softly stroke the side of a cherished face
and, once it stirs, whisper quietly and ever-so closely in its ear:
“Baby … may I wake you?
I saw the loveliest thing just now.
In the window.
Outside. Only, not quite.
It’s so beautiful. So beautifully barely even there.
May I show you?
And maybe that someone would rise, slowly,
returning, bleary-eyed and groggy,
from the land of dreaming,
to come stand with me
in the still darkness
to witness this brief lovely thing I see.
Or, maybe … as I lean in, whispering,
my own warm body sparkling with delighted wonder,
an arm would wrap around me,
pulling me in,
wanting me to witness beauty of another variety.
in the darkness,
before the sun rises,
magic can sometimes be found hovering.
in thin, fragile reflections
of things that can be felt and seen
… but are not there.
How about YOU?
What things are you unable to capture these days?
Leave a comment. I’d love to hear from you.