Life Illuminated

Lord, have mercy.....I'm on sensory overload.

It's not very often, in Oregon, from sun-up to sun-set, for days in a row, to have spectacular light and clarity. I mean, this is the northwest. The land of low cloud ceilings, fog vapors hanging in shrouds, misty gray upon grey upon blah.

But winter on the coast is another matter. Though it is cold, temps in the 30's, I can see. For miles upon gorgeous miles, all the way to the horizon. No matter I have to layer about sixteen times, have all but my nose and cheeks exposed. The wind's minimal; the sky Montana-high; the water so sparkly that light jumps and jives wave upon wave; and the dark, volcanic ruggedness of Haystack juts out against deep turquoise, white foam crashing at it's base. The color has always been here - blues, whites, greens, blacks, but all tinted dim. Now though, the intense, low winter sun acts like a theater flood light. Everything pops - life illuminated.

I need times like these. A season to absorb. To let my eyes soak it and plaster it on the back of my brain like a mural for those days I know are ahead - the dull season. The season that drips and drones, and drains. The season where you have to remember what intensity is. Where you must trust there really is such a thing as, sha-zam!

So, I'm finding it hard to do anything else these days. I just stare. Sit and stare. Walk and stare. Find a tucked away warm dune, and flop and stare. Stare to the point where it seems my eyeballs just can't take any more. So by late afternoon I'll head back to my studio, putz around tidying, folding laundry, and then out my window I'll notice the sunset making ready - like an orchestra tuning up. It starts with a tease...a peachy glow, one long violin-like note bleeding into indigo. Then, building, a grandioso, the sun flames into hot tangerine, bursting rays of red-orange against deep purples, throbbing against it's reflection in surf and shimmering sand like deep pulsating cellos. And suddenly, a kettle drum explosion of gold bursts, sinks, and disappears into a wash of magenta....trembling, quivering, like the last viola.

And there I am, suspended, laundry in hand, staring out the window. Stunned by the music; the dance between light and dark. And I will remember. Life illuminated.