When the sun appeared after a month of pewter skies, I was startled to see the beauty of our shadows gliding along the ditch, the incarnate dogs and shadow dogs trotting together, my shadow stretched long. That night under a quarter moon, I delighted in my shadow as I walked across the yard from chores.
Last year Laura Brown’s Facebook pictures taught me how to see light flashing on our walls, hinting that there might be magic in the slants of light shining between the slats of our blinds. When I was a child, this light tuckered me out, a heavy weight bearing down.
Now light cleanses our walls, a swatch of goodness. The sunset threw flame, streaking up the stovepipe, like a wild spirit caught from the one inside the stove. Another day I saw a flame hovering over a chair. And there are plates and stripes that remind me about light.
I think of Jesus as the light of the world. And the tongues of flame dancing over the disciples’ heads as the Holy Spirit blew in like wind at Pentecost. I think of how I didn’t feel good one winter, how I sat in front of a light box, the light packing my soul, making my eyes tired, lifting my heart.
I think that maybe we should look for the light ... and maybe bless the shadow.
I’m Katie Andraski, and that’s my perspective.
